


And we'll never be lonely anymore

by PoorWendy



Series: And we'll never be lonely anymore [1]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - College/University, Best Friends, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Marijuana, Weddings, a lot of old people music, best friends who are in love with each other, first time (ish), gratuitous use of the "single ladies" dance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-04-30 01:06:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 39,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5144699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoorWendy/pseuds/PoorWendy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their closest friends are getting married, and Eames has booked a room in Boston for the grand event. Sharing a room with your best friend is nothing new; It will be just like old times, and maybe if Arthur keeps telling himself that, he'll start to believe it.</p>
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>He's kept this up for years, carried this torch for Eames for so long. He thinks of the times he's met guys, hooked up with guys. He's had plenty of opportunities to experiment... A few guys from clubs, a number more from the restaurant, even Robert, but he always stopped it, often before it even really got started, simply because they weren't him. How can he justify any of that if he never tries, not even once, to get his hands on the real thing?</em>
  </p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arthur

**Author's Note:**

> This story was ALL inspired by one damn picture I saw on reddit. The title is borrowed from the 1964 Dixie Cups song, "Chapel of Love."
> 
> Serious thank you to the _fantastic_ [katiewont](http://katiewont.tumblr.com)/[kenopsia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/indie) for being this fic's personal cheerleader and helping me find the perfect quote for (and also basically crafting) my summary.

He should have driven. This is one of the thoughts that's been plaguing Arthur over the course of this train ride so far. The only reason he took the train was to try and get ahead of schedule, get some more sleep while he traveled instead of being awake for the almost-six-hour drive from Philly to Boston. And yet, here he is, wide awake as the train stops at Penn Station in Manhattan. He's been on the train for over an hour and hasn't had a wink of sleep so far.

He slumps down into his seat, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt forward in an attempt to cover his eyes, but it's no use, the hood isn't long enough. He can't even remember the last time he wore a hoodie. He doesn't usually dress down much anymore, but he wanted to at least be comfortable on the train, so he's in a tee-shirt, jeans, and boots, and he's wearing his glasses, his contacts stowed away in his luggage. He shifts one way in his seat, then another, tries leaning forward with his backpack on his lap. Nothing is comfortable. Fuck trains.

He heaves what is admittedly a slightly over-dramatic sigh, and tries to ignore the voice in his head that blames Ariadne for all of this. If not for Ariadne, Arthur would still be sound asleep, with the entire day ahead of him before he'd even have to get dressed for work at the restaurant tonight. But no, Arthur thinks, trying to push that fantasy from his mind. Ariadne had to go and decide to get married.

It's wonderful news, really, and Arthur isn't opposed to a little romance, but the whole thing has a nicer gleam to it in the light of day. Now, at 6:40 in the morning, Arthur is content to curse love's name for dragging him out of bed so early.

He wonders whether Ariadne's awake yet. Probably not. He knows she took off work today, so she's probably still asleep. She'd probably still be asleep even if she hadn't taken off work. He decides to text her anyway, ever-spiteful.

> **Your marriage is already ruining my  
>  life. This train ride is eternal.**

Arthur doesn't really expect a response. He tries to close his eyes but ends up staring out the window into the darkness below Penn Station. He's been here before. Regardless of the time of day, when your train pulls underground into Penn Station, it might as well be midnight. It's eerie, but Arthur finds some comfort in the vague, industrial shadows.

He lets his mind wander, thinking of the weekend ahead of him. Ariadne's getting married, he tells himself for the thousandth time. It's hard to register, even if she and Yusuf have been together for ages—for almost as long as he's known her. Arthur met Ariadne eight years ago, in college during freshman orientation. They lived on the same floor, and became fast friends before classes even began. There was something about Ariadne that made Arthur open up in a way he never had before. If it hadn't been for her, Arthur may well have been a fly on the wall for his entire college experience. But Ariadne pulled him into the thick of it right away. Not to mention her room always made a pleasant retreat from his roommate, Nash.

They were quickly inseparable. They ate together, walked to class together, holed up in each other's rooms watching TV and browsing the internet together. Arthur attended Ariadne's Madrigals concerts, and she attended his soccer games. And on Tuesdays, she developed a habit of hanging around outside Arthur's Intro to Chem lab, so that they could go get lunch together afterward.

That was how she met Yusuf. Yusuf was Arthur's TA, a junior at the time, and he began to find excuses to stop Arthur after class, just so he could chat up Ariadne. In no time at all, Ariadne was showing up after Arthur's chemistry lectures as well, multiple times a week, eager to talk with the TA with the cute accent. By Thanksgiving, they were an exclusive couple. Arthur and Ariadne spent less and less time in their freshman dorm in favor of hanging around Yusuf's apartment off campus, where he lived with his roommate, Eames.

Sophomore year, Ariadne moved into the apartment with them, and while Arthur was still technically living on campus in the dorms, he spent the vast majority of his time at their place, occasionally to the point where he only stopped into his own room to change clothes or sleep. He was thrilled to see Ariadne so happy with Yusuf, and pleased to get along so well with her roommates—although, it wasn't so blissful right away.

Thinking about it now, it's almost funny. Arthur knows he wasn't always so easy to get along with. He can admit now that he was uptight as a kid (alright, it's possible he can still be a little uptight nowadays as well). And when he was a bull-headed freshman, Eames got under his skin constantly.  Everything he said seemed to push Arthur's buttons. He wasn't cruel, but his teasing was nearly relentless, and even that which wasn't teasing was peppered with drawling  _darlings_ and  _loves_. It made a freshly-eighteen-year-old, painfully self-conscious Arthur worry that there was something wrong with him, something Eames could see that Arthur couldn't.

Luckily, college meant drinking, and eventually the four of them spent enough time drinking together that the things that bugged them would worm their way out. One night at the Beacon (a local tavern which was very accommodating to underage students, and which has since been shut down for being a little too accommodating to underage students), Eames and Arthur sat at the bar while Ariadne and Yusuf played pool. Arthur didn't really mean to mention the teasing, not wanting to look like a poor sport, but it came out anyway.

Eames clapped him on the shoulder. "I wouldn't do that to somebody I didn't like," he slurred with endearing sincerity. "Only a mate. And we're mates, yeah?"

Arthur swayed on his barstool and laughed, the way he could laugh at anything particularly British that Eames said, and nodded. "Yeah."

"Arthur," Eames went on, a little more serious now. "You just... You've got to let go. You've got to let that judgmental, self-preserving, self-conscious shell of yours chip away, because when you stop worrying, you're actually a lot of fun."

Arthur tried his hardest not to be indignant. He knew (he guessed) that Eames was trying to compliment him, trying to help. "I know," he admitted. Arthur never liked admitting he was wrong. It was annoying that Eames just got him to do it so easily. He envied Eames, and Eames' easy-going attitude, his effortless charm and coolness. "It's scary," he stupidly confessed.

"I know," Eames said. "But I'll be here."

There was more in that  _but I'll be here_ than Arthur would have expected. For some reason, it was enough for him. Enough to take a breath, stop being such a stubborn ass, and try and have a little fun.  _I'll be here_. It echoed in his head before every party, before every night in the city, before every opportunity to meet someone new. It's not that Ariadne hadn't done her share to pull him out of his shell, but there was something about having Eames' approval—established, charismatic, well-loved Eames—that gave him the push he needed to, as Eames had put it, "let go."

And from that point on, the four of them co-existed happily, and Arthur started to take himself a little less seriously. Eames initially tried to lay off Arthur a bit, but Arthur soon showed him he could give as good as he got when he wasn't busy repairing his bruised ego. In no time, they were goading each other and teasing each other like old friends.

They became such good friends, in fact, that Arthur still can't be exactly sure when it was that he realized Eames meant something more... something different to him. He'd had guy friends, he'd had best friends, he'd had girl friends and  _girlfriends_ , but no friend had ever been quite the same as Eames. By the end of his freshman year, Arthur knew for a certainty it was something more than friendship. When Eames would show up, Arthur noticed his heart would flutter a little, the way it had when he looked at pretty girls when he was younger. Arthur had never felt that way because of a guy, but once he noticed, his heart and belly would betray him, thumping and twisting at every smile, every brush of Eames' hand.

Arthur never really stressed about realizing he was attracted to another guy. He'd only ever been with girls, but in the back of his mind, he always sort of believed that, statistically speaking, there were probably guys out there that he'd be interested in. He was actually content with the discovery, and began taking notice of other guys on campus. Nobody else struck his fancy in the way that Eames did. Arthur would find himself admiring this guy's arms, or that guy's ass, and of course, there was Robert... But nobody made his heart race, nobody made him swallow hard just by walking into the room. Nobody but Eames.

So Arthur conceded it was, at least, a crush. He could handle a crush. Crushes could be exciting, and then they'd ebb and fade, and that was alright too.

Except that it didn't fade. And it definitely didn't help that Eames was as irresistible to everyone else as he was to Arthur, not that it came as any surprise. Eames was so good-looking, he was charismatic, he was quick-witted, he was British, and he was a flirt. Anyone could fall in love with him.

And, of course, Eames capitalized on that. Many mornings, Arthur spied disheveled girls sneaking down the stairs from Eames' room, wandering to the front door with their shoes in hand, never to be seen or heard from again. On one or two occasions, Arthur saw guys leaving Eames' room the same way.

He asked Ariadne about that once, when they were alone in the apartment one day, watching trash TV and eating food of an equal caliber. "Oh yeah," Ariadne said, her eyes still on the screen as she crunched into a handful of cheese puffs. "Yusuf said he used to bring guys home way more, like all the time." Arthur pretended not to hang on her every word. "I guess he's more about the ladies these days."

"Guess so," Arthur responded, hoping he wasn't too transparent in his inquisition.

When Ariadne shouted, "NOT the father! I knew it; I  _told_ you!" at the television, Arthur knew he was in the clear.

That's always been the worst part about his crush on Eames (besides the standard crippling agony of unrequited love)—keeping it from Ariadne. Arthur has often referred to her as "Ariadne, the ever-observant," and with every day, month, year that's passed, he's been in disbelief that she hasn't ever seemed to notice, despite her unyielding interest in  _everyone's_ personal lives. He's always taken some solace in that, knowing he's done well in hiding his attraction to Eames if Ariadne hasn't noticed.

The four of them have always had a great dynamic. Arthur decided a long time ago he'd rather pine for Eames silently than risk ruining their friendship. He'd had a lot of crushes, but he'd never found friends like these. True, he'd never had a crush quite as intense as Eames, but he'd also never been closer to anyone in his life than Ariadne, Eames, or even Yusuf. Not to mention the other obvious obstacle: Eames is anything but shy. Arthur knows that if he'd been interested, he would have made it very clear. All in all, once he realized his feelings, he knew he'd have to bury them, at least compartmentalize them—after all, he's always been practical. He's managed to do it for many years now. And now that he doesn't see Eames every day, it's easier. More routine, at least. Eames is simply one of his best friends.

So when Eames called him a few weeks ago, saying that for the night before and the night of Ariadne and Yusuf's wedding, he'd be renting a hotel room, Arthur was happy to go in on one with him. After all, they've traveled before, even sharing a queen bed several times in hotel rooms while Ariadne and Yusuf shared another. It will be fun to be together again, even just as friends, as always.

His phone buzzes and his screen lights up with a text from Ariadne.

>   _go to sleeeeep then_
> 
> **If I could sleep do you think I'd  
>  be texting you?**
> 
> _maybe out of spite_
> 
> **...That does sound like me.**
> 
> _i got shit to do man can't be_  
>  _textin u all morning, my mom's_  
>  _coming_
> 
> **Ha, alright. Go do your shit. Still**  
>  **picking me up at the station?** _  
> _
> 
> _yep i got u. text eames if ur bored  
>  he's gotta wake up anyway_
> 
> **He's gonna make a run for it if your  
>  mother's there.**
> 
> _fuck, ur right_

He puts his phone away, not having much else to say. He thinks about texting Eames, but he just shuts his eyes again.

There was only one time, one moment, one night that he almost betrayed himself, that he came even close to revealing his feelings. Yusuf, Eames, and Ariadne (and Arthur as well, he supposes), hosted a party in the spring of Yusuf and Eames' senior year. Most of the crowd was on the first floor, and Arthur excused himself to the second-floor bathroom, which always managed to stay pretty free of party-goers. He peed, flushed, lazily rinsed his hands, and walked to the door, only a little tipsy. When he opened it, Eames stumbled in, his hand on the knob. Eames was more than a little tipsy. Arthur laughed immediately, the way a friend would, as Eames corrected himself and stood mostly upright. He was leaning, his shoulder against the doorframe, blocking Arthur from leaving.

Arthur started forward to slide past him, but Eames raised a hand to his shoulder to stop him. "You havin' a good time?" he asked.

Arthur laughed again and nodded. "I am," he assured Eames.

Eames grinned, removing his hand from Arthur's shoulder to poke him gently in the chest instead. "You didn't like parties, remember?" he asked, eyelids drooping.

"I liked parties," Arthur tried to contest, but Eames waved his hand dismissively.

"You didn't! But you tried," he slurred. "And now, look at you! Havin' fun," he said. Arthur only nodded, not knowing what to say back. Then Eames looked at him in a strange way, sighed a little, and brought his fingers up beside Arthur's head, pinching his earlobe and letting his hand fall back down.

Then, very suddenly, Eames' gaze shifted to the toilet behind Arthur, and Arthur reminded himself that Eames was very drunk. He moved aside to let Eames by. "Boot and rally?" he asked, referring to an age-old tradition of puking ("booting") and then heading back out to party some more ("rallying"). Eames nodded frantically, making a beeline for the toilet and dropping to his knees just in time to vomit, in great volume, into the bowl. Arthur couldn't help but laugh, quietly as he could. "Hold tight, I'll be right back," Arthur said, leaving and closing the door behind him, hearing Eames heave once again.

He ran down to the kitchen to get a glass of water, doing his best to avoid several drunken conversations, a girl from his French class making out with a girl who used to date a guy on the soccer team, and one particularly volatile game of flip-cup.

When he returned upstairs, he knocked lightly on the bathroom door before opening it. He saw Eames standing now, bent over the sink, rinsing his mouth out with handfuls of water. Arthur stood there for a moment until Eames noticed him, smiled only-slightly-less-drunkenly, and shot Arthur a thumbs up. "Rally," he burped, about to make his way for the door when Arthur held up the glass.

"Hold on," Arthur laughed, taking a seat on the edge of the tub. "I want you to drink this first," he said, handing the glass to Eames.

Eames took it and rolled his eyes, tittering as he struggled to say, "Thanks,  _mum_." He sat down on the toilet lid.

Arthur shook his head, smiling. "Just looking out for you. We're mates, right?"

Eames smiled back, all crooked teeth. "We are," he said. He only got through half the glass of water before he started nodding off right there.

Arthur took the glass from his hand and set it on the counter. "Okay, Eames," he said, shaking him gently by the shoulder. "Up we go." Eames whined a little as Arthur helped pull him to his feet. "No rally for you tonight, I think."

Eames' room was just across the hall from the bathroom, so Arthur helped him there with little difficulty. "Are we going to bed?" Eames asked.

"Yeah," Arthur told him. "You're going to bed."

Eames let out a delighted little hum as he yawned. "Arthur's taking me to bed," he sang. They stumbled into his room and Arthur switched on the lights.

"Wouldn't be the first man to do that, would I?" he teased back, confident Eames wouldn't remember a moment of this in the morning.

Eames beamed and giggled like that was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. "No, you wouldn't!" he managed to say as he let Arthur pour him onto the bed.

Arthur ignored the way his guts were twisting around as he looked at Eames' delighted face, tried his best not to melt at Eames' crook-toothed smile, or to stare too hard at the tattoos that adorned his arms and abs as Eames struggled to remove his shirt. It was still hanging on to one arm when he gave up. He tried to toe off his sneakers, but couldn't seem to manage it, so Arthur slipped one off for him.

"Oi, careful," Eames grumbled, clearly struggling hard to stay awake. "Careful with my trainers, darling." Arthur's face felt warm. He took Eames' other shoe off and placed them both on the floor, neatly beside his dresser.

"They're safe, don't worry." Arthur walked back to stand beside Eames again.

Eames opened his eyes so slightly that at first Arthur wasn't sure they were open at all, but the grin that followed made it clear. "You're a good man, Arthur," he mumbled. Arthur smiled and ruffled Eames' hair before he turned off the light, opening the door to leave.

"Go to sleep, Eames."

Arthur remembers it like it was yesterday. And even just thinking about it now makes his skin feel warm again. Or maybe it's just the sunlight pouring through the train's windows by now. They've long since left Penn Station, and the sun's up. He pulls his hood up as far as he can, leans against the glass, and at some point, somewhere between New Rochelle and Stamford, he dozes off.


	2. Eames

When Eames arrives at the hotel Friday morning, he's elated. To begin with, he's been sleeping on Yusuf and Ariadne's couch for three nights, and the thought of a queen-sized hotel bed almost brings tears to his eyes. Beyond that, Yusuf and Ariadne are getting married tomorrow, and many old friends are back in town for the event. Eames is certain a glorious weekend awaits them all.

On top of that, spending the last few days with Yusuf and Ariadne has been fantastic, drinking cheap beer and playing video games, talking and laughing like it was only yesterday the three of them were living together, instead of four years ago. Ariadne blew off steam about the new partner at the architecture firm where she's been working a few years now. Yusuf delighted both of them by sharing some of his chemistry students' best mishaps during labs so far this semester. Eames teased them when they stole little kisses and squeezes here and there, but it does make him happy to see that they're as in love with each other as ever.

During the day, Eames had to run a number of nuptial errands for the two of them while they were at work, but even that wasn't so bad. As far as the flower arrangements go, sure—he may have seen enough tulips to last him a lifetime. But the people at the catering place were a lot of fun. He ended up there for a few hours, getting to know them and having a laugh. That happens quite a lot to Eames.

But most importantly by far is this: Arthur's train will be arriving any time now, and Eames has missed Arthur. 

From the very first day that Arthur showed up in their apartment, not far into Eames' junior year, Eames has been infatuated. He remembers it well, how he walked in wearing a plaid flannel—sleeves pushed up to his elbows—and a white tee-shirt, dark blue jeans, and a pair of brown boots that looked worn and weathered, though Eames suspected he may have bought them that way. His hair was longer back then. Not terribly long, really, but longer than he's ever had it since, and curled softly at the ends. Eames shook his hand when they were introduced and didn't say much at first, wanting a chance to try and read the boy.

Yusuf noticed immediately; Eames supposes now that it must have been because there are very few occasions when Eames doesn't say much. Yusuf asked Eames to "help him in the kitchen" (such a conspicuous request that even today it makes Eames laugh). Yusuf begged him to play it cool. He liked this new girlfriend of his, Ariadne, and he didn't want Eames to muck it up by hitting on her best friend.

"Oh, come off it. What difference could it make?" Eames asked.

Yusuf seemed ready for this question. He thinned his eyes and simply said, "Tanya." Eames rolled his eyes. Yes,  _Tanya_ , who had lived on their floor freshman year. She _was_ beautiful, true, but she wasn't much else. Yusuf had been totally enchanted by her. Her best friend, Rachel, was always hanging around Tanya's room, and once Yusuf and Tanya had started to hook up, Rachel began making moves on Eames. Eames, eager to dive into as much unsupervised experimentation as possible, jumped at the opportunity. But when he lost interest and broke it off, Rachel stopped coming around, and Tanya was forced to pick sides. And so ended Tanya and Yusuf's "relationship," and Yusuf brought it up for ages.

"Alright, yes. But Tanya was horrible!" Eames countered. "Didn't she ask, 'Don't you mean Native American?' when you described your parents as Indian?" Eames could swear he saw Yusuf grin a little at the memory, or maybe just at Eames' on-the-nose Tanya impression. "And Rachel," he went on, "well, she was no..." he made a face and motioned to the other room, as if to reference Arthur.

Yusuf pouted, though Yusuf would insist he never pouted, and pleaded with Eames. "Please, man. She's really important to me... I think they could be around here for a while." Eames sighed and nodded, always able to tell when Yusuf is being sincere. He was truly over the moon for Ariadne. So he and Yusuf went back to the living room, bringing some beer and chips with them.

So Eames made a point to include Arthur as a friend—a good friend—but nothing more. He still flirted with Arthur, but in the same (mostly) innocent way he flirted with everyone. The way that, in fact, he hadn't ever thought of as flirting until Yusuf pointed it out sometime during their freshman year. Before then, he had just thought of it as being friendly, having fun.

So he teased Arthur frequently, having his fun. Arthur did seem a bit put off by it, but right away that just incentivized Eames further. It wasn't until one night that they'd been drinking at the Beacon that Arthur spilled his true feelings about the teasing. Eames apologized, worried about pushing Arthur away. He cared about him, truly, and couldn't stand the idea of not at least being his friend. Something clicked that night, and from then on, Eames and Arthur got along very well, happy to spend nearly all their time together, virtually living in the same apartment.

And while Eames wouldn't pursue Arthur, he found himself still so captivated that he became, more or less, uninterested in other boys altogether. He found it simpler and vastly less depressing to hook up with girls, although a few times he did bring a boy home (usually only to find Arthur passed out on their couch, dampening the whole experience for him).

He thinks about the way Arthur used to look like that, sleeping on their couch. Hunched up on his side, curls matted with sweat on his forehead, his expression so much softer than it was when he was awake.

He tried to tell himself not to just get caught up in how beautiful Arthur was. That was no reason to fall in love with someone. But then, getting to know Arthur didn't make it any easier. It turned out they had quite a bit in common, specifically, a fondness for antiquated things—movies, music, style. Eames learned that Arthur grew up watching old movies with his grandmother, ensuring a spot in his heart for the golden age of Hollywood.

Eames' heart was stuck firmly in the '50s and '60s, at least when it came to music. It started when he was a teenager, with the Beatles (naturally). When he heard some of the original Motown hits that artists had covered during the British Invasion, he fell in love, and steadily built a library of thousands of oldies over the years. He's always had a love for all music, really, and has always made a point to seek out new music. But he always ends up back at the oldies, eventually.

His and Arthur's tastes overlapped, and they influenced each other a great deal. Arthur would put on a Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis movie and Eames would roar with laughter. Eames would play a Lloyd Price song, and Arthur would drag Ariadne off the couch so he wouldn't have to dance alone.

There were other things as well. Eames used to play soccer as a kid (though he, of course, strictly refers to it as football), before his family even moved to London all those years ago. He didn't follow it much anymore, but he was happy to watch Arthur's games for the year that he was on the team. After Arthur left the soccer team when he got promoted to head bartender, he was more interested in non-competitive athletics.

He started going for runs a lot, and invited Eames along. Eames gave it a shot a few times, happy for the chance to spend some more time with Arthur, but he could never enjoy running the way Arthur did, and eventually started declining the offers. Arthur did yoga, as well, and swam laps occasionally. Eames wasn't really interested in either of those. Really, Eames' means of staying in shape during college was working for a construction company, and the occasional trip to the gym to lift weights. Sometimes Arthur would go to the gym with him and run the indoor track, if the weather was bad enough. Those days were always great. He would get to see Arthur run past the gym's observation window on each lap, pink-faced, dark hair sweaty against his forehead, pinny hanging loose off him.

He's smirking to himself at the image now, having checked in and gotten their keycards. He makes his way up to the room, which is nice enough. It has little character, but you can't expect much from a contemporary hotel chain. There are two very inviting-looking queen beds. Eames manages not to throw himself on one immediately, dropping his bags instead and walking to the window. The curtains are wide open, and he admires the view as he begins to shed his clothes. He hasn't showered yet today, as Ariadne's bridal party and family had begun to arrive much earlier than he'd anticipated. He snuck out of the apartment as quickly as possible, knowing he wouldn't make it out for at least another hour if Ariadne's mother saw him.

He stands naked in front of the window for a minute, all these stories up, until he hears his phone buzz. He grabs it off the desk on his way into the bathroom and turns on the shower. He leans against the marble countertop as he waits for the water to heat up, and checks his phone. It's a text from Ariadne.

> _arthur's [train emoji] just got in,  
>  heading to hotel. u check in yet?_
> 
> **[thumbs up emoji] just about to  
>  get into the shower xx**

He beams as he places his phone beside the sink and gets into the shower, excited by the idea that Arthur will be here so soon, and that they'll have so much time together.

Of course, he can't shake Arthur out of his head as he begins to wash himself. It's certainly nothing new—thinking of Arthur while he showers. And in the shower, his mind inevitably wanders to that one morning in the apartment, probably late in his junior year. He woke up, bladder full to bursting, and stumbled to the bathroom only to hear the shower running. He thought about bolting down the stairs to the other bathroom, but knocked instead. "Almost done in there? I gotta piss," he groaned.

Then the door opened slightly, and he could only see a wet hand retreat back behind the shower curtain. "I just got in," he heard Arthur's voice say. "Go ahead."

It was so early, and Eames  _did_ have to go, so he rasped, "Thanks," and walked into the bathroom. The shower curtain was opaque, so Eames couldn't see Arthur. He could only see the steam billowing above the curtain, hear the water splattering on Arthur's body, falling in scattered splashes into the tub. Eames walked to the toilet and took his cock out, having to wait a few moments before he could go, the tension of Arthur being in the room making him a little gun-shy.

When he did start going, he glanced toward the shower to see that the curtain was  _just_ shy of being closed completely. He was barely able to make out a single body part, in fact, but the sight of a long, uninterrupted stretch of wet skin made his heart beat quickly. Eames must have lingered a moment, because he heard Arthur say, "Take all day, why don't you."

Eames chuckled a bit, said, "Just finishing up," and flushed the toilet.

" _Fuuuck_   _youuu_ ," Arthur sighed with quiet exasperation, as he and Eames were both fully aware of the bathroom's plumbing. Eames just laughed, leaving the bathroom and counting down 3...2...1... just in time to hear Arthur swear again when the water scalded him.  


"Fuck you too, darling," he called behind him sweetly as he closed the door, going back to his room, suddenly quite awake from the adrenaline rush of being so close to a naked Arthur. He was full hard by the time he shut his bedroom door behind him, and shoved his hand into his boxers and jerked off right there, back against the door, coming hard and quick into his hand.

Thinking about it even now, all these years later, still gets Eames a little hard. He isn't halfway through washing when he realizes he's rubbing himself. He thinks of Arthur in all his perfection, imagining that wonderful, slender, muscular body. He thinks of the way Arthur would often be doing yoga in the living room when Eames came downstairs in the morning. He thinks of Arthur's shy, dimpled smile, and finds himself leaning against the shower wall, facing the spray. Not for the first time, he imagines it's Arthur's perfect mouth wrapped around his cock, rather than his own hand. He shuts his eyes tight and pictures it, panting and groaning.

Lucky to be in the shower, he comes hard and messy. He recovers for a minute before splashing the come down the drain. He then goes back to scrubbing himself furiously with a washcloth.

He emerges minutes later, his skin soft, pink, and clean. He doesn't have many clean clothes left—he'll probably have to go commando by Sunday—but he manages to find one clean tee shirt, as well as a clean pair of boxers, and even two clean socks (though they don't exactly match). The same jeans he's been wearing for two days will have to do. He sniffs them, and they don't offend. His bag, on the other hand, reeks of weed, as he only had time to grab his baggy off the coffee table this morning, rather than finding the smell-proof jar in his bag. He stashes it away in the jar now.

He puts on his clothes and looks into the mirror, rubbing his bearded chin, wondering whether he ought to have shaved before seeing Arthur. He's more than a little scruffy, he observes, wondering how many weeks it's been now since he shaved. He'll shave tomorrow before the wedding. That will save him a lot of grief from Ariadne's mother.

He slips on his trainers and grabs a small notebook from his backpack. Eames can't really stand to be stuck anywhere without something to occupy his hands and attention. He often carries his notebook and a pen, so he can sketch and doodle when he's bored waiting somewhere. His nerves could make the wait in the lobby seem eternal without something to do. He grabs his phone, keys, and wallet, loading them into his pockets as he makes his way out of the room and to the elevator.

The lobby is mostly empty. Eames takes a seat on a sofa that is off to the side where he's likely to see Arthur and Ariadne before they see him. He checks his phone to find it's only been 20 minutes since Ariadne texted him. He sighs, puts his phone back in his pocket, and fidgets impatiently for about a minute and a half before pulling out the notebook. There's an orchid on a table near him that he thinks about sketching, but he settles his gaze instead on a peculiar, fairly small bronze statue of a French bulldog that's just beside the front entrance. It's too far for Eames to make out much detail, but he's rather content doodling dogs for the next ten minutes.

He's particularly pleased with the third and fifth dogs he's drawn. He does a good job of distracting himself, admiring them, but suddenly he snaps out of it, glancing up toward the door, only to see Arthur standing there, already looking at Eames. Eames' heart skips a beat.

Arthur grins. Eames melts. Then Arthur taps Ariadne, who's looking at the wrong side of the lobby, on the arm. "There he is," Eames reads Arthur's lips. He gets up immediately as Arthur leads the way over to meet him.

Eames knows he's beaming ear to ear as Arthur approaches, but he can't help himself. Arthur smiles that dimpled smile back at him, and opens his arms as he gets close. They hug tightly, though it hasn't really been that long since they saw each other. Arthur's always been too nervous to try and find weed in the city, so Eames picks up for him. Every two or three months (well, lately it's been closer to every four), Arthur drives out to Eames' place outside their old college town, and they smoke and watch an old movie. It was one of their routines during school when Yusuf and Ariadne went out together.

They rarely watch movies that they haven't already seen anymore, because every time Arthur comes over, they just get too high to pay attention. Instead they talk for hours, catching up, stoner-philosphizing. Still, Eames never has his fill of Arthur. Nothing can compare to the endless time they spent together at school, day in and day out.

When they let go of each other, Eames ruffles Arthur's hair. "Look at you! I thought I'd be underdressed," he says.

Arthur laughs, and Ariadne stands on her toes (the way she always does when she's excited) and proudly states, "That's what I said! That's exactly what I said, isn't it?" turning to Arthur.

Arthur nods. "Yeah, pretty close."

Ariadne shakes her head. "I literally used those exact words," she assures Eames.

"It was a long train ride," Arthur says in defense of his attire. "I'll be up to your standards again soon enough," he adds, giving Ariadne a shove.

"Good," she says. "Okay, I have to go deal with an endless list of errands and odds and ends and—" Arthur cuts her off.

"Get out of here! Get your shit together." He pushes her face away with his hand, and kicks lightly at her leg. Eames laughs. Ariadne is so tiny, and having been friends for so long, they can't help but bully her a bit, the way older brothers would.

"Okay! Super excited to see you too. I will get my shit together. I will see you tonight. Also," she turns to face Eames. "You stunk up our place with weed before my mom showed up.  _So_ glad you chose to wake-and-bake on this particular morning." Eames tries not to laugh, but is lost when Arthur does.

"It's a celebratory weekend! And it really was the tiniest bong hit," Eames protests. "Your mum has a super power. Did I get you in trouble?"

Ariadne laughs in his face. "She knew it was you. She knows you've been staying there. So try not to be stoned for the rehearsal."

Eames feigns offense. "You don't really think I would—" Eames starts to ask, but Ariadne interrupts.

"Absolutely, I do. I absolutely  _know_ you would smoke before the rehearsal." Arthur looks very amused, and Eames can't stop as he giggles some more.

"I won't, I won't. Go on," Eames tells her, motioning toward the door. When she's gone, Arthur turns back to Eames and they're quiet for a second. "How long 'til we've got to be at the rehearsal?" he finally asks.

Arthur checks his phone. "Five and a half hours."

Eames nods, then gives Arthur his most mischievous grin. "Want to go get high?"


	3. Arthur II

As Arthur follows Eames to the elevator, he's certain that Eames has been working out more. Eames' tee shirt is thin, and it's stretched over his back muscles, which are definitely more defined than the last time Arthur saw them. He tries to think of how long ago that was. Three months, maybe four? However many months it's been, they've been very good to Eames. Arthur hasn't seen him in such good shape since he worked for the construction company.

Despite walking behind him, Arthur doesn't have the best view of Eames' ass in those loose jeans. He sighs quietly to himself, but takes comfort in knowing they'll be getting dressed together multiple times this weekend. They've never been shy about that. Arthur has always tried not to leer too hard, knowing it's not right to exploit Eames' comfort by ogling him. He's never really been able to help sneaking a little peek though.

They stop into the room so that Arthur can drop off his things and Eames can fetch one of the joints he rolled at Ariadne's and Yusuf's. They snoop around the stairwells of the hotel first, seeing if there's any access to the roof. Sadly, the way up is locked, so they return to the lobby and go outside, wandering around the hotel until they find a relatively secluded (or at least unpopulated) spot.

They sit together on a bench and Arthur can't help but stare admiringly as Eames lights the joint. He's seen Eames light a thousand joints, cigarettes, and more over the years, but he never tires of watching the flame cast dancing lights and shadows on Eames' face. Arthur is totally captivated, eyes locked on Eames' almost serious, determined expression as he puffs and roasts the tip, puckering his full, wonderful lips. Eames stashes the lighter away when the joint's lit, tip glowing bright orange as Eames inhales deep and slow. He holds the hit in for a moment, then exhales with a satisfied sigh, his eyes softening.

Arthur hasn't always smoked weed. Eames has. For as long as Arthur's known him, at least. It was actually one of the things that turned Arthur off about him so much at first. Arthur passed a lot of judgment on people who smoked pot in those days. Most of the kids at his high school who smoked were truly vapid, listless people. Probably. Arthur never really took the time to get to know them, truth be told. He was far too busy being a self-oppressed teenager.

But it turned out that Eames was one of those expectation-defying stoners that could operate, succeed, even thrive while high, and Arthur couldn't help but second-guess some of his pre-conceived notions. Once he and Eames became close, they'd spend a lot of time together when Ariadne and Yusuf would go out, or hole up in their room for hours at a time. One night, Arthur's curiosity finally got the best of him.

When he told Eames he wanted to try smoking, Eames actually  _squealed_ with delight. Arthur's heart was racing as Eames packed up a bowl, held it to Arthur's lips and lit it for him. Arthur inhaled and tried not to think too hard about how close Eames was, how his hands were so close to Arthur's face he could  _feel_ their warmth, or maybe that was just from the lighter's flame.

Arthur held in the hit for a second before coughing it out. Eames laughed at him, but in a strangely supportive way. He let Arthur sip some water while he took his own hit. Arthur took two more, and then let Eames finish the bowl. They sat there for a few minutes while Arthur waited to feel something. When he started to hear the low rumbling bass line of a song that he was certain wasn't playing, he knew he felt something.

Eames smiled. They listened to crackly music from the forties that night, and ate about half the contents of the fridge (he can still remember how upset Yusuf was that they'd eaten all his strawberries, and how they couldn't stop laughing about it anyway). Arthur loved it. He loved the way the music sounded, and the way the food tasted. He loved the way he started thinking about things differently, as if he was climbing up over thoughts he'd thought a hundred times before and suddenly seeing them from above, from another side. He loved the warm, cloudy feeling in his head, right behind his eyes.

After that night, Arthur got high with Eames almost every chance he got. He found he particularly loved smoking before going to yoga classes in the athletic center. Something about being high made him feel so much more in tune with his body. He felt like he could open up more, stretch deeper. If he's being honest, he sometimes still smokes now before teaching classes at the center near his apartment.

It's only been a couple days since Arthur's smoked but he finds his mouth practically watering as he watches Eames take a second hit before passing the joint to Arthur. Arthur takes a tentative drag at first, aware that Eames will laugh at him if he starts choking, just as he always has. The hit is smooth, though, and he holds it in for as long as he can. When he finally exhales, he smiles, beginning to slip into the familiar foggy state.

He takes another hit. "So how the fuck you been, man?" he finally asks, lungs still tight, holding on to the hit as he passes the joint back. When he's with Eames, he tends to overcompensate with familiarities like "man" and "dude" and even, occasionally, in the spirit of college, "bro."

Eames grins. "Not bad," he answers. "Not at all bad. Just working."

"Workin' that wood?" Arthur laughs. Ever since the day Eames had taken a chance and answered an ad for a carpenter's apprentice (no experience required), his woodworking has always provided a veritable well of dick jokes among them. It wasn't until he got that job that he even started using wood as a medium for his sculpting. It turned out he had a real gift for it.

"Workin' that wood," Eames confirms routinely. "Just finished a cherry wood wardrobe the other day," he tells him. "You would have liked it." That makes Arthur smile—that Eames remembers his cherry wood projects were always Arthur's favorites. He feels warm. From the sun, from Eames, from the weed. Warm. "Actually," Eames says, holding the joint between his lips as he speaks and digs his hand into his pocket, "I've got a photo."

He pulls up the photo on his phone and hands it to Arthur, along with the joint. Arthur takes the phone clumsily in his left hand, and the joint in his right. He takes the hit as he looks at the picture and coughs, his eyes watering right away at the way it burns his throat. "Damn," he croaks. The wardrobe is truly impressive, with elaborate carvings, vines twisting a frame around each deep, stained door. "Come a long way from building birdhouses."

Eames grins proudly and takes his phone back. "Yeah, it's probably the most ornate thing I've ever done—as far as carpentry, that is. Not counting my sculpting. The details up in the corner took me forever. All those damn leaves."

"Been sculpting at all?"

"Not as much lately. I've got one unfinished one down in the shop. Mostly people seem to want furniture," he says, smiling and squinting.

"Makes sense," Arthur agrees. He's glad that Eames has been so successful. He's been renting a studio space and the apartment above it for about four years now, ever since Arthur graduated and Ariadne and Yusuf moved. Word of his business spread quickly; he began building furniture and even commissioned sculptures with great success. His connections to their university benefitted him greatly; having been a favorite among the art professors, there was never a shortage of high praise for Eames' work around the college town.

They continue to chat as they finish the joint. When Eames stubs it out (after he burns his fingers on it), he stands up and stretches. Arthur takes the sunglasses that have been hanging on his tee-shirt and tries to put them on before realizing he's already wearing his regular glasses. He and Eames both laugh at that, and Arthur removes his glasses, hooking them onto his collar. He slips the shades on, feeling much more at ease now. He smiles a stony smile.

"Better?" Eames asks.

"Every time," Arthur says.

Eames smiles. Arthur's body is still very warm. "I think there's a liquor store around the corner..." Eames starts. He looks one way, then the other, uncertainly points one way, then another. "...Somewhere around here."

A ridiculous laugh bubbles up out of Arthur, unwilled. "Somewhere around here," he parrots.

Eames starts laughing too. "I swear I saw one," he argues.

Arthur stands up and claps him on the shoulder. "We'll find it," he assures him. They head off in some direction. As they walk, they're mostly quiet. Arthur's quite stoned. He looks at everything, taking in the city around him. He enjoys Boston. It's cooler here than at home, quite a bit farther north. It's cleaner than Philly, that's for sure, at least in the parts that Arthur's visited. The leaves are turning, blazing bursts of red and orange in the trees.

The sun is warm on his face. Arthur is content. So content that he suddenly realizes he can't remember where they're going. Not the hotel... somewhere else...

He's about to ask when Eames holds his arm out in front of Arthur, stopping short and stopping Arthur as well. "There!" Eames says, pointing across the street.

Right, a liquor store. "Didn't take so long," Arthur says with a smile, although he has no real notion of how long it took.

Eames laughs at him, and throws his arm around Arthur's neck. He's practically in a headlock as Eames moves to cross the street. "I'm glad you're here," Eames says. Arthur thinks about shoving him off, but he's so high, and it feels so good to be so close to Eames. So instead, he happily keeps up, head held tight, as Eames traipses across the street.

They pick up a six-pack at the store, giggling the whole time. Arthur keeps his sunglasses on. Eames' eyes are droopy and bloodshot. Arthur hopes they at least don't smell too bad. Whether they do or don't, the guy behind the counter still laughs at them. Eames asks for a paper bag, going into unnecessary detail about "sneaking booze into a hotel." The clerk laughs at them some more but obliges, and they make their way out to the street again.

They find their way back to the hotel, only getting caught up once along the way, stopping in at a bakery after Eames spies what he calls "the world's most perfect cupcake" through the window. Arthur agrees it's a nice cupcake, but he's got his eyes set on a maple-bacon donut. They buy two of each.

When they arrive back at the room (which Eames considers a great feat, what with the "contraband libations" they bear), they plop down onto one bed, their haul of treats between them. Eames cracks two beers while Arthur turns on the TV to start flipping channels.

"See what's on Turner!" Eames requests.

"I don't know what channel it is," Arthur says, studying the screen. "See if there's a thing."

"A thing?" Eames says through a mouthful of cupcake.

"In the drawer. A thing," Arthur mutters. He's focused on trying to find the guide channel.

He hears Eames open the drawer. "There's a bible," Eames offers.

"No, like a thing with the channels on it! A list!" Arthur says. "What would I want with a bible? How does a bible help here?"

Eames is giggling hard. Arthur finally unglues his eyes from the television to face him. He's pink-faced, a bible in one hand, a half-eaten cupcake in the other. There's blue frosting on his lip and the tip of his nose. Arthur feels a quick clenching in his stomach, a tightness in his chest. It's wonderful to be back with Eames. It's as if just yesterday they were doing this in the old apartment.

There isn't a list in the drawer, and Eames is insistent about not even being "sure that's a thing." They eventually find the guide channel, and after several rotations, they find the classic movie channel. It ends up being an old World War II movie that they're pretty sure they've seen before, sometime. It's silly and gilded and almost pure propaganda. They leave it on but spend most of the time talking, at first just poking fun at the movie, but eventually the conversation shifts to the wedding. It's inevitable.

As they finish up the cupcakes, they talk excitedly about all the old friends that will be there, some they haven't seen since college.

"Got your playlists all set up?" Arthur asks.

Eames nods. Arthur already knows the general plan for the music tomorrow. For starters, it's all being left to Eames, as always. He's been the standard DJ for every party they've ever had, and a number of parties they'd attended. At the reception, Eames will be limiting it to oldies, for a nice, clean set. Eames got all of them into oldies during college, even playing them at parties sometimes. You wouldn't think it would go over well at a college party, but Eames always has had a way of making anything he does or presents effortlessly cool. He would have the whole party hooked on some malt-shop track or Motown hit in no time.

Still, the majority of their parties in college had a more modern soundtrack. They all reveled in '90s anthems from their youth, bass-thumping rap, any number of weird hip hop groups, even a little heart-racing electronica from their raving phase. The main floor was always thick with sweaty bodies—puppets, Eames liked to call them back then. He carefully selected each song, making them dance. As the night went on, Eames always seemed to know exactly what they wanted next. That type of party awaits them tomorrow after the reception. An after-party, the likes of which have not been seen since college.

Eames fetches his backpack from the other bed and pulls out his laptop. He opens it to show Arthur the oldies playlist. He grins, looking over all the familiar songs. He does notice some of Eames' favorites are missing. "What's going on here?" he asks. "Ariadne had veto power, didn't she?" They had a policy in the apartment that at every party, each of the four of them got exactly one veto, which they could exercise at any point and choose to turn off one song that someone else (Eames) had picked.

Eames laughs and nods. He roots around in his backpack and finds a crumpled up piece of notebook paper.

It's a list of ten songs. Arthur laughs at the warning on top,  _Obey on pain of death!!!_ "Does she know she put 'McArthur Park' on here twice?"

"She was very serious about that one," Eames explains.

"No Herman's Hermits on here, though," Arthur points out.

"She knew I'd never agree to that." Arthur knows he's right. He literally saw Eames come to blows with a guy in college over what began as a simple disagreement regarding Eames' playing 'Mrs. Brown You've Got a Lovely Daughter.'

Arthur chuckles reading the list to himself, each song reminding him of a number of arguments he's witnessed between Ariadne and Eames over the years. He recalls Ariadne refusing to accept "Nonsense lyrics are a staple of the time period" as an argument for 'Good Morning Starshine.' He remembers Eames knocking Ariadne's beer cup on the floor after she called 'Mony Mony' a "needless anthem." He thinks about Eames trying so hard to defend 'Splish Splash' by informing Ariadne the song had been written on a bet.

He shares each memory as he's reading. Both of them are breathless with laughter by the time he's reached the end of the list. "What about the playlist from Facebook?"

Eames grins and pulls the other playlist up on his laptop. About a month ago, Eames created a Facebook event for all the old college friends that would be at the after-party. He told them he didn't want to take their "bloody requests" all night, so this would serve as a request line. Friends from years back flooded Eames with songs they remembered.

"This is amazing," Arthur says, smiling wide as he reads through the playlist, then shuts Eames' laptop. "I'm so excited."

Eames nods. "Me too."

Arthur gathers up the trash between them and carries it over to the little bin beside the dresser. "I'm fuckin' beat," he announces happily, letting himself fall back down onto the bed beside Eames, so hard that Eames bounces a little where he sits.

"You had a big day!" Eames teases him, ruffling Arthur's hair again. Arthur smiles and curls up onto his side. "You'd better rest up, I don't want you all loopy for the rehearsal. You heard Ariadne. Mrs. Bishop's on a warpath. What would she think?"

Arthur yawns as he begins to answer. "She'd think, 'My poor Arthur, this is all William's fault.'" He feels Eames give him a shove on the arm, a reaction he's expecting since he's uttered Eames' first name.

"Lucky you're my best mate," Eames sighs.

Arthur nods. "Very, very lucky," he yawns again, and falls asleep.


	4. Eames II

Eames knows they'll be late if he waits any longer to wake Arthur. It's so difficult, though; he looks so peaceful and beautiful, his forehead covered in a fine mist of sweat. Eames dares to run a finger along a tress of Arthur's hair. He stirs a little, but doesn't wake.

Eames finally stands up, opens his laptop, and puts on some music. Specifically, Die Antwoord. Loud and abrasive, guaranteed to wake Arthur up for a certainty. Eames achieved as much many times at the apartment. He picks a particularly crass and unnecessary song, one they both hate, but it's worth the reaction from Arthur every time.

Sure enough, Arthur's up within moments, slightly startled. "Why," he complains, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Eames smiles at the sight. "You know why."

"What time is it?" Arthur asks, sitting up, patting his chest and the bed around him, presumably looking for his glasses.

"On the nightstand," Eames tells him, pausing the music. Arthur gives him a sleepy, confused look. "Your glasses? They're on the nightstand. Didn't want you rolling over on them."

Arthur smiles almost shyly and reaches for his glasses. "Thanks."

"And it's five."

"How far is the hall?"

"Not far. Under ten minutes if we drive. Twenty minutes, if you want to walk."

Arthur seems to consider this. "Let's walk," he decides.

Eames gives him a look of disbelief. "Surely, darling, you haven't finally learned to get ready in under an hour!"

Arthur's still sleepy; Eames can tell by the way he smiles. "I finally mastered the art," he says.

Arthur takes a quick shower, and the two of them get ready at a leisurely pace, and still have a few minutes of wiggle room. Eames admires Arthur in his trousers, oxford, tie and sweater. Eames has absolutely no complaints about Arthur in a tee-shirt and jeans, but boy does he clean up nice. All clean lines and propriety. Arthur goes about folding his sleeves up to his elbows and Eames wills himself to stop staring. _  
_

Instead he opens the mini-fridge, where he stashed the rest of their beers. "Wanna pound one?"

Arthur nods happily. "Really like old times," he observes as he takes the bottle from Eames. It's nice how easily they can fall back into their old routine, despite the gaps in geography, and time, and reality in general.

Eames winks at him. "Cheers," he says as they twist off the caps. They clink the bottles together and up-end them. Well, Eames doesn't up-end his at first, but witnessing Arthur chug so determinedly brings out the competitor in him. Still, Arthur finishes first. "Bloody hell," Eames says, burping, once he's finished his. "Whatever happened to my proper-Arthur? Didn't you once insist to me that you don't chug?" Arthur only laughs. "Guess you had a good teacher," Eames answers his own question, beaming proudly.

"I don't know that shoving me into the bathroom and making me shotgun a beer with you qualifies as teaching," Arthur points out.

"I think that if you ask anyone, they'll agree that a shower is the most practical place for your first shotgun," Eames says.

-

They arrive just on time, and the rehearsal goes well enough. It's a relatively casual ceremony, not religious, and that seems to help put them all at ease. Ariadne has asked Arthur to read an excerpt from one of her favorite comics at the wedding, and Arthur presents it admirably. Eames is always impressed with Arthur's composure in front of a crowd. Eames knows him well enough that he's fully aware that Arthur's totally on edge, nervous, probably sweaty-palmed, as he reads. But he never lets it show. It's one of the many endearing things about Arthur. He isn't the most secure or confident man in the world, but he can make you think he is. He never lets you see him sweat.

Yusuf's younger brother, Asher, reads on Yusuf's behalf. Another passage, this one from a novel. Eames would have liked to have been asked to read, but he knows that he's going to be doing the lion's share of the talking tomorrow during the reception as emcee and DJ, which he's looking forward to. Eames is the opposite of Arthur in that respect. 

 As soon as the rehearsal is over, Ariadne's mother corners Eames and berates him for "turning my daughter's living room into an Amsterdam drug den." Eames blushes and apologizes.

"I'm sorry, Diana," he says. "You know it's for my health," he tries to appease her as Arthur, Ariadne, and Yusuf stifle laughter behind her.

Diana rolls her eyes and tries to scoff, but Eames knows it's really a laugh. "Oh yes, your health," she concedes doubtfully with a  _tsk_. "William, you  _are_ trouble." She pinches his cheek (really) and sends him on his way. She has always adored Eames. He's never been unable to charm her.

"Save a dance for me tomorrow, my love," he tells her with a wink as he walks away.

After the practice-ceremony is over, they all make their way to a nice Italian place that Yusuf and Ariadne grew to love shortly after they moved to Boston. Their party isn't all that large. Perhaps twenty people, including the bridal party, the groomsmen, and various members of Yusuf's and Ariadne's families.

They all eat their fill, and then some. They also go through quite a few bottles of wine between them, aside from those who are driving.

Right now, the four of them are talking at their table. Ariadne is more at ease than she's been since Eames got to town. She sips at her glass of wine. "Can you believe we're getting fucking married tomorrow?" she asks Yusuf.

Yusuf grins and shakes his head. "I can't," he says, then stops grinning. He fakes panic and puts down his Coke. "Jesus, what am I doing? What have I gotten myself into?" He gets up quickly as if he's going to run away. They all laugh.

"Very funny," Ariadne giggles as she pulls Yusuf back down into his seat. "Also, can I just say that I'm still genuinely surprised neither of you brought a date with you?" she says to Eames and Arthur.

Arthur only says, "Is it really customary for groomsmen to have dates?"

Ariadne thinks on it for a second. "Isaac has a date," she points out.

"Isaac has a wife," Eames counters. "Arthur's right. We'll be busy, important men tomorrow. Don't want a couple dates stranded, lonely while we tend to your every beck and call."

Eames is glad nothing more is said about it. In college, he and Arthur had been more or less aware of each other's goings-on as far as sleeping with people and dating and all that. But since they've stopped "living together," it always seems to be the one topic they never discuss. It honestly never comes up, Arthur being pretty private about that sort of thing, and without Ariadne around to constantly hound him and prod him into sharing. Eames has never needed hounding or prodding to share his details, but he's never liked volunteering them around Arthur, either.

Eames knew immediately there was no way he could bring a date to this wedding. Even if he can't  _be with_ Arthur, he wants to be with Arthur for this. He'd rather spend the weekend like this, as friends, like old times, leaving romance out of the equation entirely.

Ariadne and Arthur are stolen away by the bridal party for a while, leaving Eames and Yusuf alone.

"Now's your chance," Eames says. "I can run interference and you can run out the back door."

Yusuf grins at him. "Nah," he says. "If I'm gonna run, I really ought to leave her at the altar. The full spectacle."

"Brilliant," Eames chuckles. "Good thinking." He glances over at where Arthur's sitting now, between two of Ariadne's bridesmaids, engaged in animated conversation. He looks rather lovely, slightly rosy-cheeked, his hair a mess by this point (at least by Arthur-standards).

"You with me?" Yusuf asks, snapping Eames out of his trance.

He looks back to see Yusuf's suspicious glare. "Yeah," he says. "Sorry, yeah." Yusuf doesn't answer, just keeps glaring. "Long day," Eames offers meekly.

"Mm-hm." Yusuf's stare softens a little. "Sometimes you make me wonder..." he starts, but trails off, the way Yusuf sometimes does. It has always aggravated Eames.

"If you've got something to say, just say it," Eames insists, as he always has.

Yusuf sighs. "Thank you," he says, surprising Eames. "For backing off all those years ago. It meant a lot to me. But, Ariadne and I are getting married tomorrow."

"Meaning...?" Eames asks, though he's pretty sure he knows what Yusuf's getting at, and he knows his face is probably getting pink.

"Our relationship is decidedly safe, I'd say. So if, by some chance, that's still something you think about," Yusuf continues, "I'd hate to think you're holding back on my account."

"Bugger off," Eames growls with a grin, not wanting to continue this conversation, knowing Yusuf's sobriety gives him an unfair advantage. Eames has had too much wine to get into this. Fortunately, Yusuf doesn't press the matter further as he goes about settling the bill.

Arthur and Eames decide to get a ride back to the hotel with Yusuf and Ariadne. Eames feels warm in the back seat of Yusuf's car beside Arthur, who's gripping the handle above his window the way he always does while Yusuf is driving. True to form, Yusuf stops short and swerves slightly a number of times.

"Why do we let you drive?" Ariadne mumbles. "You're gonna drive us off a bridge one day."

Yusuf laughs in spite of himself and says, "I think of the four of us, I am currently the least likely to drive off a bridge." Eames thinks about this for a minute. He realizes Arthur and Ariadne are also quiet in thought, likely also carefully considering Yusuf's claim. They all start laughing. "Fuck you guys," Yusuf says. "You're hammered. It wouldn't land me in jail, at least. Probably."

"Let's not pursue that hypothesis," Arthur jokes, apparently doing some sort of serious-scientist impression. It's adorable. Eames wishes Arthur was wearing his glasses. Then he thinks about how Arthur looks lovely without his glasses as well. Then he thinks about kissing Arthur for the millionth time in his life. Eames licks his lips.

Suddenly, he remembers himself. Eames blinks hard and shakes his head a little. He's really slipping up a lot tonight, gawking at Arthur. He wonders whether it's what Yusuf said or... Eames can't put his finger on it, but something feels different tonight. He tries hard to bury that feeling.

He's not sure how the conversation shifted, but now Yusuf's talking about one of his friends and fellow professors at the university. "He'll be there tomorrow," Yusuf is saying. "He's pretty cool." He pauses. "Kind of... severe, at times? I suppose."

Ariadne nods in agreement. "He's cool. His wife is like, the most crazy-beautiful woman alive," she comments, turning her head to the side to suggest she's addressing Arthur and Eames in the back.

"Yeah," Yusuf says. "Ariadne's obsessed with her."

"I am," Ariadne confirms. "Oh! She's French, Arthur!"

"Oh wow," Arthur responds, semi-interested. "I haven't spoken French in a while," he says, as if he's just realizing it. Eames remembers Arthur speaking French fondly. Arthur waited as long as he possibly could to pick his major once he realized he didn't want to stay in the engineering program, and ultimately he chose French. Eames is sure Arthur's never regretted it; he was  _so_ passionate about the language and the culture. He spent a summer semester in Paris, and when he came back, he went on and on about how he would definitely live there someday. That made Eames rather sad. It's been a long time since Arthur mentioned it, but somewhere in the back of his mind, Eames has always been terrified that Arthur might uproot himself and move to Paris.

"Well, you can practice tomorrow, _mon petit chou_ ," Ariadne recites proudly.

Arthur laughs at that. Eames smiles at the prospect of hearing Arthur speak French.

A minute or two later they're pulling up in front of the hotel. They say their goodbyes and send Yusuf off to bring Ariadne home before heading to his brother's house for the night.

Eames and Arthur are both delightfully drunk, but still consider going into the bar for a nightcap. They stand and debate until Arthur stops suddenly and notices something (or probably some _one_ , Eames realizes) over his shoulder. Eames turns to see, undoubtedly, the last person he wants to see here at this moment.

Still, Eames is nothing if not friendly. He musters up his toothiest smile. "Fischer," he says.


	5. Arthur III

Arthur has to admit that just for a moment, when he sees Robert, his heart jumps. It's not the same way as around Eames; it's never been the same around Robert or any other guy Arthur has known. It was only one kiss, true, but it was the first time Arthur had ever kissed a guy, and the rush was intense. He hasn't seen Robert in years, but the rush comes back for an instant, like phantom pain in a lost limb.

"Wow, hey!" Arthur says after a moment or two. Robert walks over to them and Eames gives him a friendly hug. Arthur hugs him next, wishing this wasn't happening right now.

Robert smiles. His eyelashes are pretty, Arthur observes. They always were. But he doesn't like the way they seem to bat at Eames slightly (even if Arthur _is_  only imagining it). He knows that Eames has never exactly been fond of Robert, but when Arthur and Robert first started hanging out when they met in a Statistics class, Eames was always going on about how  _pretty_ Robert was. Eames and Yusuf had met him the year before as "Fischer," at one of the rugby team's parties. Despite his thin build, Robert played rugby all three years he was at school.

Everything was innocent enough at first. Eames would tease Robert the way he teased Arthur—the way he teased everyone, Arthur supposed. But then, strangely, it became less and less that Eames teased Robert to his face, and more and more that he just insulted him to Arthur when Robert wasn't around. Arthur took it in stride for as long as he could, but one night, after Arthur got back from one of Robert's rugby games, it came to a head.

Arthur doesn't even remember exactly what it was that Eames said to set him off anymore. Something to do with Robert being so rich that nobody would push him around on the pitch, or being too prissy to get dirty. All Arthur remembers is getting enraged, blowing up at Eames. "What is your  _fucking_  problem?" he finally yelled. "You don't have to like him, but you could still just keep your fucking mouth shut about it!"

Eames seemed taken aback by Arthur's reaction, but then he ignited just as quickly. "No, I won't keep my fucking mouth shut about it—"

"—because you NEVER keep your fucking mouth shut!"

"No!" Eames shouted. "Because Fischer's a bloody  _prat_! He's a spoiled little rich boy, and he's turning you back into—"

"Into  _what_?"Arthur demanded, fuming.

"Back into that posh, insufferable stick-in-the-mud you were when you got here," Eames spat.

"I'm  _so_ sorry to disappoint you, Eames," Arthur started, "but you didn't manage to turn me into a completely different fucking person. That's still me, and sometimes I want to be around somebody who doesn't have such a big fucking problem with it!"

" _Bollocks_ ," Eames muttered. It didn't make Arthur laugh the way it usually did. It just pissed him off. "That's who you were pretending to be. You've let go so much, opened up  _so much_ since I've known you. I  _know_ Fischer, Arthur. He's closed-minded, he's stubborn and insecure. And he's going to make you think that  _you're_ those things again."

"Fuck you," Arthur said, done shouting but refusing to let the sting leave his voice. "It's none of your fucking business anyway."

"It is my business. You're one of the best people I know. You're one of my best mates; I should be able to share my opinion with you about shit like this."

Arthur knew Eames was trying, however slightly, to smooth things over. But he didn't care. He was fucking furious. "Fine, you shared it," he said, glowering. "It doesn't mean I have to give a fuck." He knew he was being petulant and spiteful as he went on, but he couldn't stop himself. "I'm allowed to have other friends. I don't have to waste all my time around here smoking weed all day, every day like a fucking burnout." He stormed out then, wishing he hadn't stooped to such a low, personal attack, but certainly not enough to stick around and apologize.

They didn't talk for weeks. It was the most time Arthur spent out of the apartment the whole time Ariadne lived there. He stayed in his dorm room, although it felt much more like he was a guest in Nash's space. Since Arthur had spent so little time in the room freshman year, they'd sort of set aside their differences to make an arrangement. They'd stay roommates on the books, but it was understood that Arthur wouldn't be around much; Nash would have the space to himself, basically a large single-room. Nash seemed irritated all the time by Arthur's very existence. A couple times it was almost enough to make him apologize, but then he'd think about the shit Eames said and suck it up.

It wasn't until Yusuf's birthday he finally cooled off enough to go back. Ariadne demanded as much, but it was really at Robert's insistence. "He's like, your best friend," Robert pointed out. "It was one fight. Put it to rest." Robert was a good friend, really. Arthur wished Eames could see that.

The apartment was packed when they arrived for Yusuf's birthday party. Right away, they got caught up talking with Yusuf and Ariadne and some of their friends. When Arthur spotted Eames back in the kitchen, he went to talk to him, ready to stop being such a dick and apologize.

Eames was sitting on the counter, eating leftover Chinese out of a takeout container. There were other people in the kitchen, but Eames wasn't talking to anybody. He looked a little stoned, a little drunk. He looked up and saw Arthur, and Arthur felt a wave of relief rush over him when Eames' eyes went soft.

He walked over to him, still mostly resolved to stop being such a dick and apologize.

"I'm sorry," Eames blurted out, which Arthur didn't really expect, and it sort of shook his resolve to stop being such a dick and apologize.

"You should be," Arthur said, dickishly.

Eames rolled his eyes. "Yes. And I am."

"I'm... sorry too," Arthur admitted. He felt better as soon as he did. Sometimes it really drove him fucking crazy the way he couldn't stay mad at Eames. "I got defensive, and just... really pissed off. I didn't need to make it personal like that."

Eames shrugged. "I didn't need to be such an arse about it. He's your friend... And I should have given you more credit than to suggest he could turn you into anything but what you are."

The surprisingly coherent sentiment was almost too much for Arthur. "Thanks," he said softly, looking at his shoes.  _I missed you_ , he wanted to say, but he knew it would sound strange hanging there in the silence. "I missed you guys."

Eames smiled. "I'm sure we're preferable to the infamous Nash."

Arthur nodded. "He certainly didn't enjoy my company any more than I enjoyed his."

More quiet. "Your absence didn't go unnoticed," Eames said finally. "I will admit my mornings just weren't the same without your warrior pose getting in my way."

Arthur laughed. "Well, my yoga was decidedly less fulfilling without hitting the bong with you first," he offered.

Eames looked at Arthur like he was a genius. "Let's go pack one," he said. Arthur glanced back to the living room, where Robert was still talking with Ariadne as she and Yusuf now played beer pong. Eames noticed, and added, "Bring him along too," sounding almost genuine.

Arthur looked back to Eames. "Nah," he said. "We're overdue for some bro-time," he added with a smirk, and it made Eames laugh.

They smoked and watched half of  _Casablanca_ on Eames' laptop, filling each other in on the past few weeks, getting lost in conversation before Arthur got a text from Ariadne, wondering what they'd gotten up to.

They wandered downstairs and Ariadne, true to form, proceeded to make a million jokes about how they were  _obviously_ having sex up there. It wasn't her joking that bothered Arthur, though. It was the way Eames laughed  _so_ hard, and wrapped his arm around Arthur, playing it up, pulling him close, playfully kissing the back of his head before letting him go again, laughing all the harder. It made Arthur sad. Really sad.

That was the night Arthur let Robert kiss him. After that, he barely saw him until graduation, with the exception of one party toward the end of the year. Arthur didn't talk to him. He just watched from across the room as Robert kissed Eames and followed him upstairs.

Robert graduated along with Eames and Yusuf that spring, and they've only seen him at alumni events since then. He hasn't changed much, by the looks of him.

He snaps back to reality as Eames says, "Shit, how long has it been, Fischer?"

"Long time," Robert answers. "How are you guys?" he asks, looking like he isn't long for the conversation, but trying to be nice.

"Good, we're good," Arthur says. "Just got back from the rehearsal dinner, actually. Thought we might stop in for a drink," he adds, immediately regretting it, hoping Robert doesn't think he's extending an invitation. Then he just feels shitty about not extending the invitation.

Eames seems to pick up on Arthur's nerves. He pauses for a moment before asking, "Did you want to join us?"

Robert smiles, but shakes his head. "Thanks, really, but you know, I just got in. Traffic was a nightmare," he declines rather gracefully.

"You still in New Haven?" Arthur asks. Robert nods. "Cool," Arthur says. "Well, hey, I don't want to keep you."

Robert nods. "Yeah, I think I'll check in and get settled. But I'll see you guys tomorrow," he adds.

Arthur nods, and Eames says, "Tomorrow."

"'Night," Robert says, heading off to the front desk.

Arthur turns back to Eames, not liking the weird vibe the encounter leaves behind. He's anxious to put some distance between Robert and them. "I don't know if I need another drink," he says. "Plus, we always have two more beers upstairs."

Eames nods. "After you," he says, motioning for Arthur to lead the way to the elevator.

Arthur rolls his eyes and smiles. He walks to the elevators and Eames follows. Once they're on their floor again, the tension seems to recede a little. They stumble around getting ready for bed. They're both exhausted from the long day. When they finally turn out the light and climb into their beds, the television glows softly, the volume low.

Neither of them is sure what the movie is. Eames flips the television off. The two of them lie there for a minute in the dark. Arthur isn't as drunk as before, but his head is still swimming from the wine.

"What happened with you and Robert?" he asks, feeling a little bold.

"Nothing," Eames answers quickly. There's a pause. "Well, not nothing."

"I saw you go upstairs with him, once," Arthur says, waiting a second before asking, "Did you guys fuck?" The words sound ugly and wrong as soon as he's said them.

"No," Eames answers just as quickly. "Almost, though," he admits. It's quiet for a moment. "It's a good thing. I never really liked him all that much."

Arthur nods, though he knows Eames can't see him. "Yeah, I remember." His heart is pounding. Why is his heart pounding so hard? Why is he pushing his boundaries, all his carefully set limits when it comes to Eames? He feels a tinge of self-sabotage coming on. He can't stop himself as he tells Eames, "You know, I kissed him once."

The room's too dark to see Eames' reaction, but he hears him stir. Quiet then, until Eames says, "I always knew he had a thing for you. I never thought he'd make a move."

"He did," Arthur says. "I stopped him after that, though. We only kissed."

Arthur feels like time's standing still. He waits for Eames to respond. "Because you like girls," Eames finally says, softly.

"I do," Arthur says, doing his best not to sound like his pulse is racing. Years of expert emotional compartmentalization be damned. "But," he begins. This time Eames cuts him off.

"But what?" he hears him say, low and gravelly.

"I don't know," Arthur begins. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't know how to say it. "I always thought, maybe with the right guy..."

Arthur can hear Eames' breathing now. "I never knew," Eames finally says.

"We never talked about it," Arthur replies. He isn't sure what he expects Eames to say, but he waits anyway, sure he'll think of something. A few minutes pass by, and Arthur's mind is racing. He's kept this up for years, carried this torch for Eames for so long. He thinks of the times he's met guys, hooked up with guys. He's had plenty of opportunities to experiment... A few guys from clubs, a number more from the restaurant, even Robert, but he always stopped it, often before it even really got started, simply because they weren't  _him_. How can he justify any of that if he never tries, not even  _once_ , to get his hands on the real thing? Arthur's eyes are better adjusted to the dark now. He chances a glance at Eames. He can see that Eames is staring at the ceiling, but he can't make out the expression on his face. "Eames?"

"Yeah?"

Arthur swallows hard. "This is the first time we've stayed in a hotel together and not shared a bed." What a stupid, desperate thing to say, he thinks.

All the same, Eames turns to face him. "Yeah," he says. "I was thinking about that."

Arthur takes a deep breath and slides over in his bed, lifting the blankets slightly. "Do you," he stutters. He clears his throat. "Did you want to?"

Eames sits up. "Yeah, okay." He gets up and Arthur's stomach churns thinking of him standing there, wearing so little, walking toward him. Sadly, Arthur can make out few details without his glasses, and in this dark room.

Eames climbs into Arthur's bed beside him and lies on his back, pulling the covers about halfway up his chest. There's a few inches between the two of them. Arthur places his hand there, between their hips, though for all his bravery so far, he can't bring himself to actually reach for Eames' hand.

Then, a moment later, he feels Eames' hand rest beside his. Arthur feels the warmth of Eames' fingers as they brush against his wrist, then the back of his hand, testing the waters. Arthur turns his head to look at Eames, who's looking right back at him. Arthur swallows and takes his hand.

He's pretty sure Eames smiles.

"Goodnight, Arthur," Eames says.

Arthur shuts his eyes, and gives Eames' hand the tiniest squeeze. "Goodnight, Eames."

-

Arthur wakes a few hours later, briefly. The room is still pitch dark. He's on his side, and Eames is behind him, spooning him. His arm's wrapped around Arthur's belly, holding him close. Arthur nestles back against him. He feels a twitch in Eames' boxers against his tailbone. Eames grumbles a little, holds Arthur tighter, and presses a sleepy, soft kiss against his neck.

Arthur smiles, tries to believe it isn't a dream, and falls back asleep.


	6. Eames III

Eames wakes too early for his liking the next morning, immediately irritated by the sunlight poking in from behind the vast curtains in their hotel room. But that irritation subsides completely when he realizes Arthur is still snuggled in his arms.

Unfortunately, the strain in his bladder is unrelenting, whatever the time. So he gets up from the bed as gently as he can, resting a hand on Arthur's shoulder before he walks off to the bathroom. He pisses, not flushing, not wanting to wake Arthur, and wanders back to the bedroom with every intention of going back to sleep.

However, he finds Arthur sleeping on his back now, one arm up over his head, one resting lazily on his stomach. His hair is mussed, his lovely, toned chest rising and falling with every breath. There will be no sleeping next to that.

Eames stands and watches Arthur for another minute or two before grabbing his bag and heading into the bathroom, closing the door almost-all-the-way behind him. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks in the mirror. His beard is verging on ragged, his hair sticks out every which way, and his eyes are red and heavy with sleep. He looks positively worse for wear, and last night's wine still has his head aching dully and his stomach feeling not much better. Still, he can't stop the smile from creeping across his face.

He smiles at himself, shaking his head in disbelief. He rubs his face, rakes his fingers through his beard, through his hair, stops smiling for an instant, then smiles even wider.

He tries to be as quiet as he can as he digs through his things to find his bottle of aspirin, but when he finally finds it, he fumbles with it and it drops to the floor with a clatter, pills inside shaking away. He pauses, still and silent, listening for sounds of Arthur stirring. When he's pretty sure he hasn't woken him, he picks the bottle up and opens it carefully, taking two pills and washing them down with a handful of water from the sink.

He could use a shower, he knows, but he'd rather wait until after breakfast, when they're getting dressed for the wedding. For now, he opts to just splash some water on his face and brush his teeth.

As he goes about it, his mind plays last night's scene over and over. Just the memory of holding Arthur's hand seems to make him tingle. The thought of waking up spooning Arthur makes his poor stomach flip. He wonders whether Arthur felt Eames' cock hard against him this morning.

So many years. Eames has spent so many years wanting Arthur. He's assured himself time and time again that it could never happen, that Arthur doesn't like boys, and even if he did, he and Eames are only friends, would always only be friends.

His thoughts are scattered and loud, for which he's grateful, as they mostly drown out the faint voice beneath it all, the one warning him not to get his hopes up. They were drunk last night. They'd just seen Fischer, with whom they both have history, Eames knows now. They're in town for a wedding, wrapped up in nostalgia. The voice goes on reminding him of all the reasons Arthur might have had to make a stupid mistake last night.

Eames brushes his teeth harder, trying to quell that voice. He makes the mistake of brushing his tongue, gagging almost immediately, which in turn makes his stomach clench up. He's more nauseated than he can remember being in a long while. He doesn't often suffer from hangovers. When he does, he just gets high. Eames swears weed is the only true hangover cure, including the numerous abominable British concoctions that his family has passed down generation after generation. He wonders whether Arthur will want to smoke before breakfast. He hopes so.

He coughs some gross stuff up into the sink after gagging on his toothbrush, making some very ugly noises. He rinses and spits, then turns off the tap. There's a soft knock at the door. His heart begins to thump. "Yeah?" he says, his own voice sounding timid and strange in his ears. The door opens a little and Arthur leans in. He smiles as soon as he sees Eames standing there. "Did I wake you?" Eames asks.

"It's alright," Arthur says.

"Need the bathroom?" Arthur nods. Eames lets him in and goes back to the bedroom. He sits on the bed, still warm from where Arthur's been lying. He shuts his eyes and hears the sounds of Arthur pissing, the toilet flushing, the sink running a minute. Then the door opens and Arthur comes back.

He sits at the foot of the bed and lies back, muttering, "Wine is the devil," one hand over his face, one on his stomach. "I took an aspirin," he tells Eames, "but I think this would be a good time for that other joint."

Eames smiles and shifts himself so he's lying beside Arthur. He can't help staring. His mind is still loud with anxiety and excitement.

Arthur moves his hand away from his face and turns to Eames. "Last night," he says finally.

"Last night," Eames echoes, his stomach in knots.

"It was really nice," Arthur says, blushing a little.

Eames sighs with relief. "It was wonderful," he says.

Arthur smiles that dimpled smile. "And believe me, whatever this—" he pauses and motions between the two of them, "—is, I am very, very excited about it." Eames smiles. "I just think that, maybe... just because of the wedding and all, maybe we ought to play it down. Just until tonight." He looks at Eames with soft eyes that could get him to agree to anything.

"Let them have their day?" Eames replies.

Arthur nods. "Exactly," he says. Eames doesn't really want to wait another moment to get to whatever's next with Arthur; it's been so long already. But he can't argue that this day should belong to Yusuf and Ariadne. They'll all surely be plenty busy. Hopefully it will be plenty distracting. Eames nods in agreement.

He stares at Arthur's lips longingly. "I really want to kiss you right now," Eames says softly. Arthur just swallows. "But I think if I kiss you right now, I won't be able to stop kissing you." Arthur sighs. Eames aches.

He can't kiss Arthur now, not yet. There's too much to do. He's waited all these years, surely he can make himself wait this one last day. All the same, he finds himself leaning in, closer to Arthur. He convinces himself that a kiss on the forehead will be safe enough, and kisses Arthur chastely as he can just above his brow, before moving back and sitting up.

Arthur bites his lip a little, staring in a way that really excites Eames, before he gets up and starts going about getting dressed. Eames starts digging through his luggage bag for a clean tee shirt. He does not find one. He picks yesterday's shirt up off the armchair and sniffs at it.

Arthur laughs as he gets a clean navy henly out of his own neatly organized suitcase. It's not like him not to unpack, Eames thinks, but then, they have been intoxicated for most of the time they've been in the room. Arthur pulls the henley on. "I'd offer you one of mine, but I don't think they'd fit you anymore," he says, pushing his sleeves up to his elbows.

Eames is pleased to hear that. He's taken a lot of pride in getting into such good shape the past few months, and he's been eager to see if Arthur would notice or mention it. He's been getting to the gym a few mornings a week, and doing body-weight workouts at home, even going on runs occasionally, though he still truly hates running. "It's alright," Eames says, pulling the shirt on. "Doesn't really smell."

They finish getting dressed with their backs to each other, as they've done many times before. It's more exciting now. Eames looks for a clean pair of underwear, but only finds the nice pair of boxer briefs he'll be wearing under his suit later. He sighs and takes off last night's boxers. After he pulls on the same jeans from yesterday, he peeks behind him to see Arthur's back still turned. Eames watches sheepishly as Arthur slides his tan cords up over that perfect, round ass of his. Arthur turns and around and catches Eames admiring, and blushes.

Eames gets the joint out of his jar and they go down to the lobby, and out around the building to where they smoked yesterday.

The joint goes quickly, the breeze stealing much of it. Still, it gets them both high enough. Eames can barely feel his headache, and the nausea in his stomach is already being replaced by a voracious appetite. Still, they've got a while before they have to meet Yusuf back inside at the hotel restaurant. They sit and talk, happy to be outside, letting the breeze blow the smell of weed off of them.

"So, I know we're 'holding off' today," Eames begins, "but can we still sort of... talk about it?"

Arthur smiles and seems to be thinking for a minute. His eyes are red and lazy. Eames is starting to wonder whether Arthur even heard what he said, when Arthur finally answers, "Yeah, I think so."

Eames nods. That's good. "So," he starts, as if about to ask a question, then realizes he doesn't really have one single question, or one single thing to say, so much as a chorus of a thousand thoughts vying for purchase in his head. "Fischer," he hears himself saying nevertheless. "Is he the only guy you've..." he trails off, hoping that's enough.

Arthur's smile fades a little, though he doesn't look sad. "No," he says. "He's not the only one. But he was the first one, and the only one in college, until we all moved."

"Never while we were living together?" Eames asks.

Arthur laughs. " _Living together_ ," he echoes, adding air quotes.

"You weren't on the lease, but you know that place was yours as much as ours," Eames says. He's told Arthur as much many times before. It was always important to Eames for Arthur to feel at home in their apartment, because Arthur was one of the things that made that place  _home_.

"No," Arthur ultimately answers. "Never anybody else while we were living together." They're quiet for a second. "What about you? You were always with girls in college, like, all the time," he says. "I think I saw... two guys leave your room in four years. Not including Robert."

Eames laughs. "Yeah," he starts. "Well, it was just easier, with girls."

"How so?" Arthur asks.

"I've liked boys and girls for as long as I can remember," Eames explains. "I suppose I preferred boys, but I was always just... interested in everyone. Then, you came along, and whenever I brought a boy home," he continues, feeling surprised at how easy it is to tell Arthur these things, things he's been hiding for so long. "When I brought boys home, I could only think of you. I didn't want just any boy, I wanted you. Girls, I could just have fun with. I could forget, for a while."

Arthur looks away, shy. "How long have you," he begins, then starts over. "When did you start feeling that way... about me?"

Eames sighs. It's almost a laugh. "Oh, Arthur," he says. "The day you walked in the door," he confesses. He reaches for Arthur's hand. "This whole time."

Arthur blushes. "I never thought..." he trails off. He looks down in disbelief as he takes Eames' hand and laces their fingers together.

"No," Eames confirms. "I did my very best not to let on. Per Yusuf's request, actually."

"You told Yusuf?"

Eames shakes his head. "Didn't have to. Must have seen me drooling," he laughs. "That first day, he summoned me to the kitchen, and begged me not to make a pass at you."

"And you obliged," Arthur says, with almost-entirely feigned disappointment.

"Wasn't easy," Eames replies, squeezing Arthur's hand. "So when was it for you, then?" he asks.

"Not right away," Arthur says, laughing. Eames laughs too. He's fully aware of how much he annoyed Arthur in the beginning. "I don't know when, exactly," he says, more seriously. "Just, one day, you came home from class, I think it was still my freshman year. You walked in, and my heart just..." he paused, looking for the words. "It just stopped, for a second. And, then it happened the next day too. And it kept happening. And it never stopped happening." Eames can't think of what to say. "It happened when I walked in the lobby yesterday," Arthur continues. "It happened when I woke up this morning." Eames' heart is so full. It might be enough to make him cry if he wasn't so stoned.

"I think  _my_ heart just stopped," Eames mumbles, not knowing what else to say, hating and loving the way Arthur can make him feel shy, even for a moment. They sit there contently until Eames' phone rings. He fishes it from his pocket. It's Yusuf. "How are you, my blushing bridegroom?" Eames exclaims happily, putting it on speakerphone.

"Hey, we're here. Where are you guys?" Eames and Arthur look at each other, eyes wide, and get up immediately.

They're already walking when Eames starts saying, "We're—er—we're right... here," hopelessly.

Arthur speaks up. "We're waving at you; you don't see us?" He and Eames both start cracking up.

They hear Yusuf murmuring, "They're fucking stoned," to one of his brothers, which only makes them laugh harder.

"Be right there. Two minutes, swear to god," Arthur says, and Eames hangs up.

They meet Yusuf and his brothers, Isaac and Asher, inside the restaurant one minute later.

Breakfast is pleasant. Eames got caught up with Yusuf's brothers the other night, but Arthur hasn't seen them in a long time, so they mostly bother him with their questions.

"You still at the... oh, what was it called?" Isaac, Yusuf's older brother, says.

"The Loaded Die," Yusuf reminds him through a mouthful of toast.

"Right," Isaac nods, "the Loaded Die."

"Weird name," Asher comments. Asher's younger, only 22.

"The building used to be a speakeasy during prohibition," Arthur explains. Asher nods in understanding. A lot of the original structure was still in tact. The brick wall behind the bar, for example, was blemished with damaged spots, rumored to have been the result of one-or-more shootouts back in the '20s. A lot of illegal gambling and drinking went on there, once upon a time, and its namesake has honored that since the late '60s, when his boss's family bought and restored it.

"Still tending bar?" Isaac asks.

Arthur's about to answer when Yusuf chimes in again. "No, he's practically the boss-man over there," he says, before washing down the toast with a particularly large gulp of his mimosa.

"Not the boss-man," Arthur laughs. "Just the dining room manager. And I  _do_ still tend bar," he adds, for Yusuf's benefit.

Isaac nods. "Not bad at all," he says, impressed, then takes a sip of his coffee.

Arthur nods in agreement. "I teach some yoga classes at the studio near my apartment too, so I make a little extra cash that way."

Eames grins, always happy to be reminded of Arthur's lithe body in various yoga poses. "After all, we can't all be  _doctors of chemistry_ ," he says in a feigned snobby tone, motioning toward Yusuf.

Everyone laughs, even Yusuf at first, at least until Asher ruffles his hair, cooing, "So proud of our Yuey!" Then Yusuf merely pouts, finishes his mimosa, and reaches for the pitcher in the center of the table to refill it.

Isaac tries to repair Yusuf's ego. "And what's more than a PhD, he'll soon have a wife," he says with legitimate admiration. "More than the likes of you," he adds lightly to their other brother, as well as to Eames and Arthur.

"He's got us there," Eames says to Arthur.

"Yeah," Yusuf agrees happily. "You lot don't even have dates! Starting today, I have a date  _forever_!" They all laugh again, and Isaac subtly moves the pitcher of mimosas out of Yusuf's reach.

That's all that's said on the matter. Eames goes about devouring his French toast with extra whipped cream. Arthur carefully mops up egg yolk with his white toast. He takes a bite, catches Eames' eye, and grins. When they're all finished and the bill's settled, Arthur and Eames walk out with them so they can get their suits from Isaac's van.

They say goodbye to Yusuf and his brothers, and after Arthur turns to walk back to the hotel, Yusuf motions for Eames to stay a moment. "Is something going on?" he asks Eames.

Eames shakes his head instinctively, but still worries his face might give him away. "What do you mean?" he asks.

Yusuf just squints at him a little, staring suspiciously. "You're being weird."

"I'm high, mate," he offers.

Yusuf stares again for a moment before shaking his head, apparently dismissing his worries, at least for the time being. "Alright, listen: be there at noon, okay?" Eames nods. "12 o'clock, Eames."

Eames nods again. "12 o'clock, Yusuf."

Yusuf climbs into the van. "And don't go getting any higher," he says before he shuts the door. Eames laughs and winks at him through the window.

Eames doesn't usually smoke this much anymore, certainly not multiple times a day like he did for most of college. He still smokes a couple times a week at least, though, usually before (or while) he works late at night, or if he has friends over. But this weekend feels like college again. He feels no shame in indulging. Eames rarely feels shame.

Arthur's waiting for him in the lobby. "What's up?" he asks Eames, one eyebrow raised.

"He said I was acting weird," Eames says, eyes wide with pretend fear.

Arthur's eyes light up even as he's saying, "Oh no!" They both laugh it off a little. "Better get it together, Eames," he teases. Eames grabs his hand and they walk to the elevators.


	7. Arthur IV

They shower (separately), they shave (side by side, the way they used to in college, although Eames' beard takes much more time than Arthur's stubble today), and they dress, of course taking the proper time to admire themselves in the full-length mirror. Arthur's glad he wore everyone down while arguing in favor of these three-piece suits, even if Eames does grumble and complain as he struggles with the buttons on his waistcoat. They look pretty damn good in matching gray. 

They're ready in plenty of time to take a leisurely walk to the hall. The moment they walk into the hall, however, the atmosphere is anything but leisurely. Yusuf is near the front entrance, talking with a relative of his that Arthur possibly met the night before... His uncle? Arthur thinks that's right.

"Arthur!" Yusuf calls as soon as he sees him. He excuses himself from his probably-uncle and walks over to Arthur and Eames. Eames points at his watch proudly, as if to say  _look! We made it on time!_ Yusuf nods. "Yes, thank you. 12 o'clock." He turns to Arthur and points up a staircase to their left. "She wants you."

Arthur swallows, the stress starting to settle in. Jesus, this is going to be a day. "Everything... okay?" he asks, trying to sound more confident than he is (as usual).

Yusuf shrugs. "Probably? Her mom came down and told me to send you up when you got here."

Arthur nods and goes ahead up, trying to give Eames some sort of telepathic goodbye. Near the top of the stairs, he finds a door with a painted sign that reads "Bridal Suite" in lovely lettering. He knocks.

Ariadne's mom opens the door. "Arthur!" she gushes as soon as she sees him. "Look at you! So handsome, my goodness." She throws her arms around him, half hugging him, half pulling him inside. She shuts the door behind him quickly, as though she's concerned Yusuf is hovering right outside, trying to sneak a forbidden peek at the bride.

Ariadne's bridal party is in there, and and they all give their share of predatory compliments at Arthur's appearance. It still makes him feel good, even in light of recent developments. They're still beautiful girls, and it's still nice when beautiful girls find you attractive. Ariadne's maid of honor is Kat, pale and dark-haired, her oldest friend from her hometown, who moved to London after college. Ariadne's been thrilled that she's in town. In addition to Kat, she has three bridesmaids. There's Isabelle, her younger cousin, still in school. She's 21, if Arthur remembers correctly. There's _stunning_  Emma, Ariadne's first roommate at college, who Arthur had a crush on right away freshman year—the two of them hooked up once, and only once at their first proper college party. Then there's another friend of theirs from college, Masha, who is also totally beautiful, her features dark and soft. Arthur had been interested in Masha too, though she had to let him down gently, explaining she wasn't into guys. All four are dressed in lilac (matching the groomsmen's ties), their dresses varying in style though alike enough to seem a set.

"Arthur!" Ariadne seems suddenly relieved. She addresses her party (and her mother), "Go downstairs and lay the smackdown on Yusuf. Make sure everything's ready, okay? I gotta talk to my side-chick." Arthur points at himself and winks to the girls.

He looks at Ariadne as the girls file out of the room. She looks absolutely beautiful. He came up to Boston to shop with her the weekend she picked it out. Though it wasn't exactly thrilling for Arthur, he's always appreciated how much she values his taste. She enlisted his help time and time again at college, asking how this looked, and did this go with that. She chose a short dress that only falls to her knees, having often said that she wore a floor-length gown, only once, for prom, and never intended to do it again. She's so short that this length flatters her much more, anyhow. It was strapless when they bought it, but she had Emma (an avid cosplayer) add a mesh top above it, with swirling beaded embellishments. Her hair's swept back in a low, loose bun, and she's wearing a small net veil.

Once the door's shut, Ariadne grabs him by the arm. "I'm kind of freaking out."

Arthur can't help but laugh. Ariadne's nerves have long been a tradition at all large events, particularly ones that directly involve her. "What's wrong?" he asks, waving his hands apologetically when he sees her reaction to his laughter.

"I just... It's a lot of people, you know? This is all so weird. Don't you think? Like are we not still children? I'm getting fucking  _married_ , Arthur!" She lets out in one long breath.

"Okay, breathe," Arthur says. She breathes, sort of. "It's not too many people. Think about Madrigals," he reminds her. "You used to sing in front of a lot more people than this. And today, you get to do this with Yusuf. Do you trust anybody more than him?"

She shakes her head. "No. Well, maybe you."

He smiles. "Well, I'll be up there too. And we're not children, which I agree is weird. I'm 25 years old... You're 26! That's insane! But it's true," he says.

"Not helping as much, now," she says.

He laughs at her. "Listen, not that long ago, you were 25. And once, when I met you, in fact, you were 18. 18 years old! And do you remember what you told me?" Ariadne looks at him inquisitively. He goes on. "You told me that you didn't really feel 18, that it hadn't been that long since your birthday. But, we went out, and we bought that pack of cigarettes anyway."

"Oh god," she says, apparently remembering the night. "That night. We smoked, like, that whole pack outside the soccer suite."

He nods. "Yes! We were able to poison ourselves so thoroughly with those Camels because you  _were_ 18\. Your license said so. And it was insane, but it was true. One day, you woke up, and you were 18."

"Yeah..." she says, looking at him squinty-eyed. Arthur is sure she's trying to figure out if he's high. Maybe he still is, a little. But he rolls with what he's saying, hoping he'll get his point across.

"Tomorrow, you're gonna wake up, and you're gonna be married. And it will be  _insane_ , but it will be true. And one day it will just make sense. But," he says, "you have to start first. You gotta go get married, kid."

She looks at him, almost captivated. "Okay, man," she says finally, a little smirk playing on her lips.

"Good pep talk?"

"Adequate pep talk," she says. He giggles, proud of himself anyway. Ariadne turns and gives her reflection a once-over. She straightens her veil, smoothes out her dress, wipes a finger carefully alongside the edge of her mouth to be sure her lipstick is perfect. "Alright, let's fuckin' do this."

-

Just under two hours later, it's done. Arthur watches happily as Ariadne and Yusuf kiss for the first time as a married couple. He turns to Eames, who's standing beside him, and smiles.

He performed his reading perfectly, if he says so himself. He almost tripped up once or twice, but it was less to do with his nerves at speaking in public, and more to do with the words' impact on him in light of the past 24 hours with Eames. He read a passage by Ariadne's favorite author, Neil Gaiman, from _The Sandman: the Kindly Ones,_ about love.

_"You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore."_ He remembers the excerpt in its entirety. He's read it a hundred times the past few weeks. For him, it's about Eames, as much the first time he read it as now.

Ariadne approaches him outside, where everyone's getting some fresh air, mingling. "Did I fuckin' nail it, or what?" she asks, throwing her arms around him.

He laughs and hugs her back. "Uh, did  _I_ fuckin' nail it or what?" he replies.

She lets him go and nods furiously. "It was beautiful, Arthur, really. Thank you so much for doing it. I know you weren't too excited about it."

"No, I'm glad I did," he says. "It was a great choice. Maybe I'll get around to reading Volume 1 one of these days."

Ariadne huffs. "Oh, good. I've only been telling you to for  _seven years_ , Arthur." He laughs at her. "Also, can we quickly talk about how badly your little speech up there made me want a cigarette? It was like watching  _Mad Men_ ," she complains. Arthur laughs, remembering all the Sunday nights when they'd ran to the convenience store for a pack of cigarettes after seeing Don Draper chain-smoking, calling it "smoker-porn." _  
_

"It  _is_ a special occasion," he points out. "I mean, would it really be a true college party if we didn't make every excuse possible for social smoking?"

She bites her lip guiltily before saying, "Yeah, you guys should buy a pack before the after-party."

"You got it," he says.

She does a tiny celebratory dance. "I'm so excited! _This_ is gonna be great, too," she says, motioning back inside the hall, referencing the impending reception. "But I'm  _way_ more excited for tonight! It's you and Eames," she insists, and Arthur tests the powers of self-control willing his face not to flush. "Whenever you two are together, it's  _just_ like college again. Yusuf and I miss you guys so much."

"I miss you too," Arthur says. "All of you. It seems unreal now how amazing that time was. We were like a family," he says, getting emotional in spite of himself. He does miss those days. He understands why people call college the best years of your life. It was like being frozen in time. Things were simpler. They were all together. It's sad to think about sometimes, now that they've moved on to the rest of their lives.

"Aw!" Ariadne coos, obviously excited that Arthur's sharing this with her.

He gives her a gentle shove. "Shut up," he says, smiling. Arthur hasn't always been the type to open up to people, or even to get sentimental about people at all. But to have people he loves enough to trust them, to rely on them. He's never been that close to anyone else.

"We'll come down to visit more. Now that I'm done with grad school, and Yusuf's got his PhD, and all this—" she motions around them, "—shit's finally done with, I promise. We'll have more time." Arthur nods, happy to hear that. "We'll go hard in Philly, like old times. We'll go back to Woody's!" she exclaims, like it's the best idea in the world.

Arthur will later point out to Ariadne just how hilarious it is that she's now, today, suggesting they go back to the gay club. For now, he just nods and says, "Absolutely."

The photographer suddenly makes her way over to them. She's a small, dark-skinned woman who Arthur knows he met earlier today, but he can't remember her name, having met quite a few people. He excuses himself when they start talking about lighting and where to begin with the pictures. "Grab Yusuf?" Ariadne asks Arthur, pointing over to where he's talking with Eames.

Arthur walks over to them. "Your wife needs you," he tells Yusuf. Yusuf grins wide and eagerly makes his way over to Ariadne. "Ariadne wants us to buy cigarettes after the reception," Arthur tells him, raising his eyebrows a couple times in mock-deviousness.

Eames' eyes light up immediately. "Oh, it's going to be a hell of a night," he says, grinning wide and mischievous.

"I think you might be right," Arthur agrees. Ariadne rarely smoked cigarettes anymore. She's barely ever been a real smoker—none of them have, really, except maybe Eames—but at the apartment, they all went through a bit of a phase. Now, she only smokes when she's good and truly drunk, so the fact that she asked them to pick up a pack suggests she's got every intention of letting loose tonight.

"You were wonderful in there, by the way, darling," Eames tells him.

Arthur feels his face get hot. "I almost slipped up a couple times," he tries to argue, but he's never had any success rebuffing Eames' compliments. "I wasn't nervous, though. I was just thinking about you." Eames smiles. Arthur goes on. "It reminded me of you," he says, chewing at his fingernail.

"It reminded me of you too," Eames admits. "I can't stop thinking about you," he tells him, "about last night, and this morning. About everything I want to do with you," he says, his voice low, verging on plain sultry. "In good time, of course."

"Of course," Arthur says. He sighs as he stares at Eames, wanting to grab him and press his lips against him and maybe just disappear upstairs real quick for a few hours. Eames is giving him a smirk like he can read Arthur's mind.

"Photo time!" they hear Ariadne call. Arthur shakes his head, as if that will shake the thoughts from his imagination. He and Eames go over to where the wedding party is gathering around the photographer.

The photo session isn't exactly quick, but it's painless. The photographer directs them all to stand this way and then that way, invites family members in and removes the wedding party, then switches them around again. She takes photos of the bridal party alone, and with Ariadne, then similar photos with Yusuf and the groomsmen. They request a few photos just the four of them as well, including undignified shots that no one seems as amused by as they are.

Finally, she invites the rest of the wedding party back, she has Yusuf and Ariadne in the middle, the bridesmaids on Ariadne's right, the groomsmen on Yusuf's left: Isaac, Asher, Eames, and then Arthur on the end.

Once they're properly arranged, they hold their poses as best they can. Arthur hears the shutter of the camera a few times, his face beginning to strain from all the smiling.

"Okay," the photographer calls. "Now kiss!"

Arthur is sure the photo will capture the furious blush that bleeds through his face, as he feels Eames' lips pressed hard against his cheek, just as the shutter snaps again. His cheeks hurt from smiling even wider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaiman quote is back in. Thanks to [bbcsherlockaddict](http://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcsherlockaddict/pseuds/bbcsherlockaddict) for calming my nerves with some good ol' fashioned rational copyright law education.


	8. RECEPTION

**EAMES**  
_the Toast_

"Husband and wife! Can you believe it?" Eames cries as his fills their champagne flutes. The four of them are upstairs toasting in the bridal suite. His little stunt during the photos went unnoticed by most. Those who did see chalked it up to Eames being Eames. Arthur looked too adorable to resist. And after all, he was only listening to the photographer.

Yusuf shakes his head and slips his arm around Ariadne's waist, pulling her close. "I really can't," he says.

"To the both of you," Eames says, setting the bottle down and raising his glass.

Yusuf and Arthur follow suit, but Ariadne holds up a hand. "Wait, wait, wait. To  _all_ of us," she says. "I gotta get sappy and say it, you guys have been here for this every step of the way. We've all been together this whole time."

Arthur nods. "Hear, hear. We're  _all_ married now!" he announces with exaggerated formality.

Eames grins at Ariadne. "I'm caught up in the romance, love," he tells her. "I'm all for it. The loves of my life!" he says, raising his glass again, hooking an arm around Arthur's neck. Arthur smells nice. He smells like _Arthur_.

They all clink their glasses and drink. Eames chances a little affection, letting his head rest against Arthur's as he swallows, just for a second. Huge mistake. Arthur's head is so warm. All of Arthur is so warm. The sound of Ariadne's phone ringing snaps him back to reality, and he lets Arthur go.

Ariadne answers the call. "We'll be right down, Mom... We're just toasting... Yeah—me and Yusuf and Eames and Arthur... Ugh... Yusuf and Eames and Arthur and  _I_ are toasting and we'll be right down!" They all laugh. "No, we aren't getting high," she insists, shooting a quick death glare at Eames.

Yusuf's already finished his glass of champagne, but he takes a swig from the bottle before announcing, "Okay, guys, gotta go; put the bong away," loud enough for Diana to hear.

She starts to shoot another death glare Yusuf's way, but her mother's shrill " _Ariadne_ _!_ " distracts her. They all laugh at her again.

"Oh my god, Mom, he's joking... I... Okay, I'm hanging up, Mom.  _MomI'mhangingupbye!_ " She hangs up and hands the phone to Yusuf. "Guess who just became my walking purse!"

Yusuf sighs and takes the phone. "Yes, yes. Your husband and human-pocketbook," he mutters as he slips it into his pocket. The rest of them finish gulping down their champagne before Ariadne grabs the bottle and makes a beeline for the door. Yusuf follows close behind, and Arthur starts to go when Eames catches him by the wrist.

"Are you going to dance with me?" he asks Arthur.

Arthur looks down, smiling. "Maybe," he says. "Might be dangerous."

Eames grins. "Friends dance too," he points out, taking a step closer to Arthur.

"They do," Arthur agrees. "Not the way I'd want to dance with you," he adds, finally meeting Eames' gaze. Eames brings his hand up beside Arthur's head and traces his fingertip along the shell of his ear. Arthur sighs, maybe shivers. It's subtle. He takes a step closer to Eames and rests his head on his shoulder. "Maybe," he says again, but softer this time, and against Eames' cheek. Eames feels Arthur's breath on his ear, and it goes straight to his belly. He closes his eyes and sighs. Arthur kisses him on the jaw before stepping away.

All at once, Eames sees his proper-Arthur again, primping in front of the mirror, unbuttoning his waistcoat, untying his tie, re-tying his tie, re-buttoning his waistcoat. He takes his jacket (neatly folded) off the chair beside him and puts it back on. Eames watches intently as Arthur checks his reflection, messing with his hair a little, though it already looks so lovely.

Eames steps behind him and places his hands on Arthur's hips. "You look perfect, darling," he assures him. "Let's go. Can't keep the droves waiting for the master of ceremonies," he says, straightening his tie.

"Of course," Arthur replies with a smirk. " _You're_ the star of the show today, after all." Eames nods proudly. He takes Arthur's hand and leads them out of the room, squeezing before letting go to head downstairs.

 

 **ARTHUR**  
_the Speeches, and the First Dance_

The reception starts promptly at 3 o'clock. Eames takes the microphone eagerly, as he's wont to do. He effortlessly wins the crowd over with his charisma (and of course, his accent), and introduces the wedding party. First, Kat and Isaac enter, the maid of honor and the best man. After that is Asher and Isabelle. Then, Arthur walks out, Emma on one arm, Masha on the other, as Eames is too busy hamming it up to be escorting anyone anywhere. Finally, he introduces the newly married couple. "And, for the first time anywhere as husband and wife, Yusuf and Ariadne," he says simply. Ariadne hasn't changed her name; neither she nor Yusuf feels it's necessary to involve 'mister and missus.'

Arthur watches Eames with admiration as he stands up there. He looks so excited. He lives for this shit, Arthur knows, all eyes on him, everyone listening and caring what he has to say. Arthur is glad he's gotten his own brief moment in the spotlight out of the way early.

Eames invites Kat up first to give a quick speech. It's light-hearted, even funny, Arthur has to admit. Everyone laughs as she says, "I genuinely never thought you could ever find a person weird enough to spend the rest of your life with... But you called me that one night, god, 8 years ago now. And you told me about this guy:  _Yusuf_. And you wouldn't shut up about him, so I finally came to visit you at school, and I met him," she says, smiling at Yusuf. "And sure enough, he was the weirdest." Everyone laughs at that as well. "And I just, I remember looking at you two and thinking, 'Wow, okay. Perfect.' And I still think that, looking at you two now. So congratulations. I couldn't be happier for you." She raises her glass.

Kat takes her seat, smoothing out her dress. She looks beautiful. Ariadne truly has the most beautiful friends; Arthur and Eames never let her hear the end of it in college.

Eames introduces Isaac, then, who makes his own quick speech. "My little brother was a serious child," he begins, "which I know is hard to believe. And it got a little better as he got older, but Yusuf, when you left for college, I was worried about you." There's a little laughter. "But you got there, and what you found was so much more than I could have ever hoped for you. You met somebody so special, who didn't change you, but rather pulled this fun, unbelievable person out of you." He stares at Ariadne with adoration, but then quickly turns the other way. "Eames," he says, and the hall erupts with laughter, none louder than Ariadne's.

"I mean it man," Isaac says to Eames, chuckling a little himself. "You saved him. But," he says, turning back to Ariadne, "the reason that's so important is that he was ready when you came along. Eames is the one that made him  _the weirdest_. And you are just what he needs, Ari. You became a part of our family a long time ago, but today it's official, and I'm so proud." Ariadne's trying very hard not to cry. Isaac raises his glass. "To both of you."

"Alright!" Eames says when Isaac gives him the mic back. "Well, they're about to bring out the food, but we've got a minute here," he tells everyone, stepping out almost to the middle of the dance floor. "For those who don't know me, my name is Eames. I lived with Yusuf for  _six years_ , but more importantly, I'm the man who picks the music." Arthur grins. "There's going to be a lot of oldies here today, but if you're interested in some more modern music, you're welcome to attend the after-party tonight." Ariadne calls out a  _whoop_! "But for now, we're sticking to the old stuff."

Ariadne gets up from her table and whispers in Eames' ear. "Alright, I've just been informed that the food will be a few minutes, and since Ariadne is painfully eager to get it out of the way, the bride and groom will have their first dance now," he announces. Ariadne elbows him in the ribs a little, and then walks back over to Yusuf, smiling a wide, pageant-like smile at the rest of the guests.

Eames makes his way back to the podium, where his laptop is set up, hooked up to the hall's sound system. He cues up the Frank Sinatra song that Arthur knows they agreed upon weeks earlier, 'At Long Last Love.' Yusuf and Ariadne always liked it a lot. Eames used to sing it to tease Yusuf whenever he acted particularly lovey-dovey around Ariadne.

Ariadne and Yusuf make their way to the floor and start to dance. Arthur knows Ariadne is burning up inside, having to dance with everyone watching her, but he's proud of her as she stares into Yusuf's eyes and does it anyway. After about thirty seconds, though, she flashes Eames a look, which Arthur knows means  _get some other people on this god damned dance floor before I cringe so hard my spine snaps_. "Ladies and gentlemen, our lovely bride would like to invite you all out to the dance floor," Eames says.

Arthur looks longingly at Eames, but instead turns to Emma, whose blonde hair is braided in a crown around her head. She is gorgeous, not at all a bad dance partner. He holds his hand out to her and she smiles, taking it and following him to the floor. Masha fetches Eames from the podium and he happily accepts her invitation. Arthur tries not to stare, but he does steal a few glances. Every time, Eames is looking at him, smiling back.

As the song winds down, Eames excuses himself back to the podium. He takes the mic and addresses everyone again. "Okay!" he booms. "The food is making its way out as we speak, but I'm gonna keep the music going, of course. This next one," he begins, his tone shifting a little, sounding a little more serious, "goes out to the love of my life." Arthur's stomach lurches slightly. "The mother of the bride,  _Diana_..."

Eames presses play and the beginning of Paul Anka's 'Diana' echoes through the hall. Arthur heaves a sigh of relief and amusement as he turns and sees Mrs. Bishop blushing.

 

 **EAMES**  
_the Mother of the Bride, the Barbecued Spare Ribs, and the Inevitable Twist from Pulp Fiction_

He beckons Diana to the floor, and she meets him without argument. Eames doesn't even have to use the fishing-pole move. As they dance, she grills him.

"I can't believe you haven't got a date, William," she says.

Eames shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Nobody seems able to believe that," he mutters.

"Can you blame them?" she asks. Eames smiles. "Surely you haven't exhausted your little black book already?"

Eames laughs at the idea. "We don't use little black books anymore, Di. It's called a mobile phone."

Diana  _tsk_ ed. "Don't be fresh," she says. "No girls on the horizon then?"

He shakes his head. "None," he says.

"Boys?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. Eames only smirks. "William," she begins, "I know you don't like me to mention it, but someday, you're going to have to tell him how you feel."

Eames smile is shier now, he knows. Diana has always been able to read Eames. She's extremely observant, in the same way that Ariadne is, except Diana notices more, and generally speculates less. But she has loved Eames since the day she met him, and she has known he's been in love with Arthur for just as long. Eames doesn't answer her, not knowing how exactly.

"I know you don't want to ruin your friendship, but I just hate to think of you ignoring the rest of the world while you sit here wishing—"

Eames interrupts her. "I think it's happening, Diana." He smiles at her, and she eyes him suspiciously. "I think it's happening, today." Her eyes grow wide as she realizes what he means. They're large with shock for only a moment before they start to well with tears. "Oh, please don't," he says, looking away, embarrassed.

She already has a tissue tucked in her sleeve from the ceremony, and she dabs at her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she mutters. "Are you sure?"

Eames can't stop grinning. "I am," he says.

She wraps her arms around him tight. "Oh, I'm so happy for you," she sobs softly.

Eames laughs at her. "You know, your daughter's the one who just got married," he points out.

"Oh, please. She and Yusuf have been married for years!" she jokes. She gathers her composure as the song ends.

"No one knows, so don't mention it, alright?" She nods and hugs him tight before she lets him go back to the podium.

Arthur follows him up there, hanging around while Eames double-checks his playlist, asking innocent-enough questions about the music, but Eames knows he just wants an excuse to be nearby. Eames has no problem with this. He can't get close enough to Arthur.

He explains to Arthur how he's carefully designed the playlist to zigzag in chronological order and reverse-chronological order. It starts in the fifties and moves forward, song by song, through to the sixties, sometimes as high as the early seventies, and then snakes back down the decades again, through to the forties, then back to the fifties and so on. Eames spent a lot of time making the set perfect, and he's pleased that Arthur's so impressed.

Every time something even remotely romantic comes on (so, basically every song; oldies are sort of all love songs), Eames asks if Arthur wants to dance. "I'll behave myself," he promises.

Each time, Arthur simply shakes his head and says, "Not yet." Eames is happy to wait, as long as Arthur keeps close by. Once the line for food has subsided, the two of them go and fill their plates. Yusuf and Ariadne chose an old-fashioned barbecue place to cater, and Eames is looking forward to watching Arthur eat sauce-drenched spare ribs in his suit. Arthur already looks nervous. It's adorable.

They sit together and eat, their table mostly vacant since the other members of the wedding party are out mingling, having already eaten. Eames stares in amusement, watching Arthur try to pick apart his slab of ribs with pinched fingers. "Darling," Eames begins, "you've got to learn to get messy." Eames grabs his own ribs and tears a chunk of meat from one with his teeth. "There's no posh way to eat barbecue," Eames insists, mouth full.

Arthur wrinkles his nose at him, trying to give him an angry look but failing miserably. "I don't like to get messy," he says, dropping the ribs in defeat. He starts licking the sauce from his fingertips, which Eames really enjoys watching.

Eames sighs as Arthur picks up some cornbread from his plate and spreads sweet butter on it. "Don't like to get messy... anywhere?" he teases, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur blushes. "Well," he says softly, "not in a three-piece suit that cost more than—"

Eames doesn't let him finish. "I'd like to get you good and messy," he says, leaning in a little closer, "but I'd get you out of the suit first." He notices Arthur shudder, half excited, but seemingly half nervous as well.

"I might not be..." Arthur begins timidly, but trails off.

"What?" Eames asks, not laying on the smarm so heavy now.

Arthur swallows. "I might not be as experienced as you," he tells him.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Eames says, leaning back, suddenly feeling like a right prick. He hasn't even thought of that. "I didn't mean to..." he's the one who trails off this time.

"It's okay," Arthur assures him.

Eames is quiet for a second. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to do," he tells Arthur. He casually takes a bite of mashed sweet potatoes, trying to lessen the tension.

"I want to do everything to you," Arthur says, quickly and boldly. Eames almost chokes on his potatoes. He looks back to Arthur, who's red-faced, but earnest-looking nonetheless.

Eames takes a sip of his drink. "God, Arthur," is all he can manage. They keep eating. Eames pretty much has to force-feed himself, his appetite waning now that his mind is playing flashes of X-rated scenes. He knows he has to keep eating, though. He knows he'll be drinking too much today  _not_ to eat.

When Eames is done, he pushes his plate away. A few minutes later, Ariadne swoops in. 'You Never Can Tell' just came on, and he knows that Ariadne can't let that song play without doing her best Mia Wallace impression. She kicks her shoes off and grabs Eames by the hand. Eames slips out of his shoes right away, knowing Ariadne will demand as much if he doesn't.

She drags him to the floor and the two of them begin to twist. Eames does his best Vincent Vega, dancing on his tiptoes, sliding in his socks. He and Ariadne have done this dance a thousand times, but really, Eames never tires of it. He catches Arthur laughing as some guests are gathering around them, taking pictures. This little performance of theirs was always a hit at their old parties, and now is no different.

When the song ends, a few people even clap and cheer, which Eames loves. Everyone falls in dancing together after that, to one of Eames' favorite songs, if he's honest. It's called 'Elusive Butterfly,' and it's got some of the most corny, saccharine lyrics of any song he can think of. Ariadne has always hated it for this reason, but she's giggling in spite of herself as Eames starts mouthing the chorus at her. _"_ _Across my dreams, with nets of wonder, I chase the bright elusive butterfly of love."_

"It's  _soooo_ bad," Ariadne complains, barely audible over the music. Eames glances over to Arthur and watches him, dancing, singing along, showing off. He looks so beautiful and carefree. Eames catches his eye, and Arthur shoots him a big smile, all teeth; it makes his eyes virtually disappear. It makes Eames feel very warm.

They all keep dancing until Diana comes and fishes Ariadne from the dance floor, informing her that it's time for cake.

 

 **ARTHUR**  
_the Cake, the Song, the Kiss, and the Most Crazy-Beautiful Woman Alive_

Arthur watches with delight as Ariadne stuffs a modest-sized bite of cake into Yusuf's mouth. He half-expected her to start a food-fight at this point in the reception. He's pleased that she does not.

Yusuf chews happily and takes a gulp of champagne. He picks up a bite and feeds it to Ariadne, then wipes the tiniest dollop of frosting on her nose. Not to be outdone, she thumbs up some frosting off her plate, wipes her thumb across Yusuf's forehead, and says, " _Simba_ ," Arthur can tell by reading her lips. Yusuf throws his head back with laughter, then scoops Ariadne up, planting a seriously deep kiss on her.

Arthur looks at Eames, who's at the podium, toying with his laptop again. Arthur can never get over how Eames will spend hours, days, sometimes weeks on a playlist, getting it just right, only to then check on it every five minutes at the party. You wouldn't think of Eames as a perfectionist, but the things he does set his mind to, he obsesses with endlessly.

A number of lovely old songs, slow and romantic ones, have come and gone so far. It's been getting harder and harder with each one for Arthur to keep shaking his head at Eames' pleading stare. Certain songs come on and in an instant, their opening notes bring him back to one night or another in college, when he listened to those songs with Eames, when the sweet music and adoring lyrics made his stomach churn with longing.

He's focused on Eames' adorable wrinkled forehead when Robert plops down in a chair beside him, a tumbler in his hand. Arthur smiles at him.

"Hey," Robert says.

"Hi," Arthur replies. "Having a good ti—"

Robert cuts him off. "I'm sorry I disappeared like that," he says. "Back then," he adds clumsily. He's a little drunk, Arthur notes, but Robert _was_  always a genuine drunk. Never to be dismissed. 

Arthur shrugs. "It's alright," he says. "You don't have to—"

Robert cuts him off again, clearly very eager to say whatever he has to say. "No, I do. I never said it. I'm sorry. And not just... Not just because we kissed and I didn't call, or anything like that. I mean as a friend. We were friends, and I just..." he trails off, and looks into his glass. "I shouldn't have done that."

Arthur smiles a little. "Thanks," he says. "I'm sorry too. I always felt like I led you on too much. I did like you, but—"

"You were hung up on Eames," Robert says. Arthur looks at him suspiciously. "After Eames and I almost..." he tries to explain. "Well, after that, I just realized it one day. You two wanted each other." He takes a sip of his drink. "I knew you'd never be happy until you were together. It makes perfect sense, really."

Arthur just stares at him, surprised. "Nobody knows yet," he warns.

Robert raises his eyebrows in disbelief. "Did it happen recently?"

"It's kind of happening right now," Arthur explains, grinning like an idiot.

Robert smiles. "Wow," he says. "About time." He gets up from his seat and puts his hand on Arthur's shoulder (Arthur can't be sure if this is Robert trying to be friendly, or Robert trying to steady himself). "Good luck," he says, and walks off to get some cake. The spotlight's off Ariadne and Yusuf by now, and they're out dancing again (along with many other guests) to a Louis Prima song. Arthur begins to watch Eames again.

Eames abruptly looks up at nothing in particular, and Arthur has a feeling he's pretending he wasn't just watching the exchange between Robert and him. This feeling is confirmed when Eames peeks back to check, and blushes when he's caught. Arthur just smiles at him. He's getting so tired of waiting. He's been (mostly) strong-willed all day, and this day already feels like an eternity.

Eames' eyes are round as he appears to heave a sigh. He looks down to his laptop and clicks around a bit. The Louis Prima song is ending, and Eames starts walking over to him slowly. Arthur's heart races. When he hears the opening chords of the next song, he knows he's lost. It's 'La Vie en Rose.' Eames is standing in front of him now, holding out his hand.

Arthur takes it. In the time it takes to follow Eames to the dance floor, the music sinks into his skin, rippling into goose bumps. He feels the sounds go right to his stomach, and memories flood his mind. The way Eames would play this song at the end of the night, when they were too fucked up to party anymore and the sun was threatening to rise. How he would ask Arthur to sing it, having overheard him in the shower once, and how Arthur never would (unless he was really,  _really_ drunk). The time it made Eames cry so much when they used it on  _How I Met Your Mother_.

He remembers it all at once, and forgets nearly everything else in the world. Eames slips his hand around Arthur's waist, and takes his hand. Arthur places his hand on Eames' shoulder, happy to let him lead.

Arthur's surprised that Eames doesn't have anything to say. Maybe there's nothing to say. Arthur finds himself instead closing the space between them, resting his cheek against Eames'. Softly, barely, he sings along with Edith Piaf's voice. He feels Eames sighing against his ear. Arthur thinks he could very well dance here with Eames and sing the entire song to him.

And he almost has, when Eames leans back to look in his eyes. Arthur stares back and wets his lips. Eames kisses him then, for the first time. Arthur feels like he could probably just melt right there, into Eames' arms and down into a big spill on the floor, but instead he opts to kiss Eames right back.

It's soft, and sweet. Eames' plump lips feel more amazing than Arthur has ever imagined. So amazing that Arthur even dares to sweep across them with his tongue. Eames parts his lips at once. Arthur exercises the best self-control of his life when he resists the urge to drive his tongue into Eames' mouth in a very tawdry display. He just lets his tongue slide, soft and brief, over Eames'. He feels Eames lick back at him gently before pulling back. Eames looks at him again smiling, and leans back in almost immediately to press a series of slow little kisses against Arthur's lips.

It's not until Arthur hears Ariadne's sharp voice saying, "Wait, what the fuck?" from somewhere that he notices the song has ended, and that his arms are now wrapped around Eames' neck. They pull away from each other instantly, embarrassed and officially caught, it would seem. Arthur looks up just in time to see Ariadne literally push Yusuf off of her body to run over to them.

Arthur imagines his face must be roughly the same color as Ariadne's lipstick as she grabs them each by the wrist and hauls them off the dance floor, never shy about making a scene.

"What is this?" she asks, fighting a smile, eyes still wide with disbelief, motioning between the two of them.

"Can we get cake while we talk about this?" Eames asks immediately, casual as ever.

Arthur laughs. "Yeah, I think cake is a really good idea. Cake sounds great," he says, trying to play it as cool as Eames, but not succeeding. The kiss has turned him stupid. Where are they again? What  _is_ cake, even?

Ariadne huffs. "I know you two are not gonna play me like this is not a big, huge, gigantic deal," she complains. "How long? How long has this been going on?" Eames makes a dramatic display of checking his watch, as if actually trying to calculate exactly how long. "Come on!" Ariadne demands impatiently.

Arthur laughs, both at Eames' gesture and Ariadne's frustration. Yusuf comes over now. "So this is what's been going on at your stoner-fests at Eames' place?" he asks, laughing too.

"It  _literally_ just happened," Arthur tells them, trying to sound genuine although he can't stop giggling at it all. He's kept a straight face all day. He's losing it now, but he doesn't mind. He's still sort of on a cloud.

" _Just_ now," Ariadne says, like she absolutely does not believe him.

Eames grins. "I swear to you, you just saw our first kiss," he promises.

The thought's nearly enough to make Arthur swoon ( _swoon_ , god help him). "No, something happened last night," Yusuf insists, apparently convinced there's more.

Eames groans. "We bloody spooned!"

Ariadne screws up her face at that. "Oh,  _god_ , what's bloody spooning?" Eames gives her a disappointed and patronizing glare. "Oh," she says, realizing. "You  _bloody_ spooned," she repeats, adding a British accent to the  _bloody_ this time. "Wait,  _awww_ ," she coos, the final stage of realization settling in. "How could I not have known..." she mutters to herself.

"Take a breath, Ari. You're kind of spinning out," Yusuf says.

"No one knew," Arthur points out, but then thinks twice. "Well, Robert knew, I guess."

Eames looks surprised for a second before pointing to Yusuf and adding, "Yusuf knew."

Yusuf shakes his head and wags his finger. "Nice try," he says, but Ariadne's already staring daggers at him. "All I knew was that he was giving Arthur that  _look_ of his when they met," he tries to defend himself. "That was like 8 years ago!"

"I want a divorce," Ariadne tells him, deadpan.

"Your mother knew!" Eames chimes in again. That distracts her well enough. She immediately turns around and scans the room for her mother until she spots her. Ariadne is off before Eames finishes murmuring, "Target acquired."

"Well, god damn," Yusuf says after a beat. "I'm glad for you guys. Never thought I'd see the day."

They nod and enjoy the calm that Ariadne left in her wake as they're approached by a nice-looking man, who looks to be a bit older than Yusuf and Eames. He's half-supporting a stumbling (and  _stunning_ ) woman.

"Dom!" Yusuf greets the man. "Great, I wanted you all to meet. Eames, Arthur, this is Dom Cobb, and his wife, Mal." They all take turns shaking hands as Yusuf goes on. "Dom's in the architecture department at the university," he explains.

"Have you seen our Ariadne's work?" Eames asks Dom.

Dom nods. "I have; she's something else. Been a long time since I've seen that kind of talent."

Arthur smiles at that, always proud of Ariadne, remembering how she dreamed of being an architect when they first met. She told him about dreams she had as a kid, where she could build buildings and even manipulate entire cities just by thinking of them. She was convinced those dreams were the culprit for her desire to design great things.

"She lives for it," Arthur says. He feels a light touch on his sleeve, and turns to see Mal is, he guesses, trying to get his attention.

"So pleased to meet you, Arthur," she says. "Ariadne has told me so much about you. You studied French?" Arthur nods. She's obviously more than a little drunk, but her speech is surprisingly clear, even through her lovely accent. "I was admiring the two of you as you danced," she goes on, motioning to both him and Eames.

"She was," Dom confirms, looking a little embarrassed, yet charmed by Mal all the same.

"It was so beautiful," she goes on. She turns to Dom, nodding. "He knows," she begins, and then turns back to Arthur. "You know what it means to be a lover—"

"—to be half of a whole," Dom finishes the sentence, imitating Mal as if she says this all the time.

"Oh, quiet, Dominic," Mal says. "I want to tell it to them."

Eames and Arthur exchange a look of amusement, despite their confusion. "Tell us what?" Eames asks, interested and encouraging.

She looks Eames in the eye with a smirk. "You're waiting for a train," she says, low and bewitching, like she's starting a campfire story. "A train that will—"

"Mal, god damn it, don't do this," Dom says, under his breath, more to himself than to Mal.

"Shhh—that will take you  _faaar_  away," she says, giggling now as Dom is mouthing along. " _Rabat-jole_ ," she says, shooting her husband a poorly-faked glower. "I'll tell you next time," she says to Eames.

"Oh, I like you," Eames says, laughing. Ariadne's making her way back over. "Are you two coming to the after party?"

Ariadne must hear that, because she's sidling up beside Mal excitedly. "Oh, you  _have_ to," she pleads, taking Mal's hand.

"James and Philippa," Dom says to Mal.

"Let me call my mother; I'm sure she won't mind keeping them for the night," Mal points out.

Dom sighs. Arthur thinks that Mal might be the type of person who often gets her way, though he can't blame Dom one bit. She's enchanting. "You call your mother," Dom says. "I'm getting you some coffee."

"So lovely to meet you," Mal says to Arthur and Eames.

"Likewise," Arthur says.

Dom and Mal head off. "She got us with the train thing the night I proposed to Ari," Yusuf tells them. "How did it end?" he asks Ariadne.

"I don't remember exactly," Ariadne says. "It sounds best when she says it anyway."

"What does it mean?" Arthur asks.

"No clue. Some love shit," Ariadne answers. "But god, she's beautiful," she whispers, fanning herself for effect.

"My faithful wife," Yusuf kids.

"You two work it out," Eames says, taking Arthur by the hand. "We've got many years to make up for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so this was a fun chapter to write, lately I've been thinking of it as the one with ALL the pop culture references. I couldn't fight it, even if it's cheesy! The last part, Eames' part where Ari & Yusuf find out and they meet Mal & Dom, I had a lot of fun writing that. It's fun when the shit finally gets to hit the fan!
> 
> Anyway I know it's been a slow build so when it comes to the next three chapters I'll just say, warning, lotta porn ahead. The next three chapters still have a bit of plot but mostly it's just a grand ol' porn trilogy sooooo look forward to that!


	9. Eames IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: The Porn that Was Promised

The rest of the reception is a blur. Eames pulls Arthur to the bar and they have a couple drinks, then dance some more. For Eames, it's all a happy haze of day-drunk and Arthur's smiles. Afterward, they help clean up for a while, fielding a few more questions from Yusuf and Ariadne until the newlyweds realize that he and Arthur don't know much more than they do yet.

It's at this point that Ariadne insists that they don't need any more help, and that Eames and Arthur should "go get ready for the party" (this is accompanied by a series of clumsy winks), and sends them back to the hotel.

Arthur tries to argue a little, but Eames doesn't need to be told twice. He packs up his computer and some other equipment into his backpack, and they're on their way.

They walk back, sort of stumbling against each other. It's still light out, golden even, a perfect evening for walking. They stop in at a convenience store a couple blocks from the hotel to pick up a pack of cigarettes. When they're barely even out the door, Arthur asks Eames to open them.

"I want one," Arthur says, tipsy and gorgeous, his face a little flushed.

"Naughty Arthur," Eames teases, but he opens the pack anyway.

Arthur bites his lip. "Play your cards right..." he says.

Eames grins and licks his lips before placing a cigarette between them. He hands one to Arthur and holds his lighter out. Arthur leans in, puffing tentatively. Then Eames lights his own. It's been quite a while since he's had a cigarette. The tobacco rushes to his head right away, mixing nicely with the three or four drinks he had at the reception.

Arthur takes his hand and they walk back to the hotel. Eames gets very caught up in watching Arthur smoke. He's always been so sexy when he smokes. Eames watches intently as Arthur inhales, his eyes serious, then lets a mouthful of smoke tangle its tendrils into the cool Boston air. Eames drags on his own cigarette, desperately and often, trying to stave off the wicked thoughts coming to his mind.

It's only seven o'clock when they get back to the hotel. They make their way to the elevator hastily. Eames looks to Arthur. Arthur smiles and holds out his hands. Eames takes them and closes in on Arthur, leaning down to trail kisses along his neck, and he swears he hears the smallest whimper escape Arthur's lips.

Eames is half-hard by the time they reach their floor. They hurry down the hall and Eames unlocks and opens the door. Arthur practically pushes him through, then closes the door behind him. Before Eames knows it's happening, Arthur's pressed against him and Eames' back is against the door. Arthur's tongue is in his mouth, and Eames sucks at it greedily. Arthur's arms are around his neck, and Eames grabs hold of his hips, pulling him closer. They need to be closer.

Arthur groans into Eames' mouth, no doubt because his erection is now rubbing against Eames' thigh. Eames is a little dazed at the realization he is finally feeling Arthur hard against him. Arthur clumsily thrusts against his leg once or twice. "Eames," he gasps, pulling away from his mouth for a moment, "this is amazing."

Eames takes the opportunity to push Arthur backward, then to the side, against the wall. He presses his chest hard to Arthur's as he kisses him again, tasting smoke and beer on his tongue. Arthur pulls Eames' jacket off before he works his hands between them and pulls at Eames' tie. Eames' heart is pounding. He lets a little more space between them and starts desperately unbuttoning Arthur's waistcoat, though it's a struggle. There are so many buttons... Arthur ultimately has to finish them, and he does so deftly and quickly, before unbuttoning Eames' waistcoat as well.

Eames watches Arthur's slender fingers at work for a moment before loosening Arthur's tie. He leans forward and presses his lips frantically to Arthur's cheek, jaw, neck, all while ridding him of his tie and working at yet another set of buttons, these ones on his oxford. When he's done, he slides his hands over Arthur's chest, down his hard stomach. Eames feels Arthur's cock twitch against his leg, and lets his hand wander down to graze it over Arthur's pants.

The moan that it coaxes from Arthur, Eames thinks, might be the most beautiful sound he's ever heard. Eames leads him away from the wall and toward the bed. He starts at Arthur's belt. "Is this okay?" he asks before unbuttoning his fly.

"Yes," Arthur gasps, barely letting Eames finish the question. Eames smiles and kisses him, then quickly unbuttons Arthur's pants and happily pushes them down to his knees. He then pushes Arthur back onto the bed, and Arthur kicks off his pants the rest of the way. He's staring at Eames, hungry. Eames unbuckles his belt and unfastens his trousers before climbing on the bed beside Arthur, frantically ridding him of his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt, which are all barely hanging off him by now anyway.

Eames stands up again to peel off his own shirt and waistcoat, and Arthur takes the opportunity to rid himself of his socks, which Eames thinks is adorable, so he takes his socks off too. Then he pushes his pants down and kicks them off onto the floor. When he looks up, he notices Arthur's mindlessly rubbing at his own erection over his briefs. Eames bites his lip, staring.

It seems only now that Arthur even realizes he's touching himself. "Sorry," he says quietly, moving his hand away.

"Don't be," Eames says. "I could watch that all night." Arthur blushes. Eames gets back on the bed, crawling toward him. "Though, I'd rather help," he adds softly.

Arthur groans, sits up, and grabs Eames by the shoulders just to pull him down on top of him. "Come here," he manages to eke out before he crashes their lips together. Arthur opens his legs wide to let Eames settle between them. Eames ruts against him as they make out, their dicks rubbing against each other, only the thin fabric of their briefs between them. "Eames," Arthur sighs.

Eames wants desperately to get Arthur completely naked, but he doesn't want to rush him either. Eames simply keeps rolling his hips against Arthur's, and brings a hand around to the back of his neck to pull him deeper into their kiss.

He feels Arthur's hands come down to start pushing at his own briefs. Eames breaks the kiss, needing to look down, needing to see. He stares stunned as Arthur's cock springs out, hard, pink, and perfect. "Oh, Arthur," he says. He looks back up into Arthur's eyes. "Is this really happening..." he mutters, to himself as much as to Arthur.

"Yes," Arthur says, pulling Eames back to his face, their teeth gnashing together before Arthur pushes his tongue back into Eames' mouth. Eames groans into the kiss, wrestling with Arthur's tongue. He starts pushing down his own underwear, freeing his erection. He can't fight giving himself a few strokes, pushing back his foreskin and pressing the head of his cock to Arthur's hip, leaving a trail of pre-cum on his skin.

"Touch me," Arthur breathes, reaching for Eames' hand. Eames complies happily, letting Arthur place his hand on his shaft. Arthur shudders when Eames' fingers make contact. Eames senses some urgency in his reaction, like Arthur might not hold out for long. That's all well and good, because Eames feels a similar urgency himself. He takes both their cocks in one hand and starts stroking them. Arthur throws his head back and grits his teeth. "Fuck," he mutters. It sounds especially filthy through his clenched jaw.

"How does that feel?" Eames grunts against Arthur's ear.

He feels Arthur nodding desperately before managing to reply. "So good," he whimpers.

Eames lets them go and pulls his hand up, and muses at the sad little sound Arthur makes in response. "I know, darling," he says, consoling him. "I know." He drags his tongue over his hand a few times, slicking it with spit before bringing it back down and pumping them faster.

"Oh fuck, Eames," Arthur mutters, his eyes shut tight, his head turned to the side now. "I'm gonna come soon," he adds, peeking up. Eames can't take his eyes off Arthur's lovely face as it clenches and twists. He watches Arthur's eyes roll back in his head, watches him lose control entirely.

"Come on, Arthur," Eames grunts, stroking even more quickly. "I want to watch you come, love."

Arthur seems to be trying his very hardest to keep his eyes locked on Eames', but when he comes he blinks hard, gasping. Eames moans appreciatively, and presses his lips to Arthur's jaw. A minute later, Eames slows his strokes and spills all over Arthur's belly, his come mingling with Arthur's.

They're both panting hard. Eames could stare at Arthur for another hour, but he decides he'll do the decent thing and help clean him up. He kisses Arthur's forehead before hoisting himself off the bed, heading into the bathroom. He rinses his hands and dries them on a fluffy towel, then brings it back to Arthur. Eames starts wiping up their come, but Arthur smiles and takes the towel from him. He cleans up to the best of his ability, but his torso is still spotted with the thin, dried sheen of come. "I should probably rinse off in the shower," Arthur says lazily, his eyes drooping a bit.

"Don't fall asleep on me, darling," Eames says, lying beside Arthur again and nuzzling his face into Arthur's neck. Arthur rolls over and kisses Eames. Eames nips at his bottom lip.

Arthur sighs and pulls himself away, up off the bed. "I should get up before you get me hard again." He goes about picking their clothes up off the floor, folding or hanging everything neatly. He runs a hand over his stomach, then, and kisses Eames before heading into the bathroom.

Eames lies back, folding his arms behind his head. He could get used to this. The shower's running, and after a minute or two he hears Arthur get in, but he hasn't heard the door close. Intrigued, he gets up and wanders over. The door's wide open, and even the shower curtain isn't entirely closed. Eames enters the bathroom, watching Arthur from behind as he faces the spray.

He clears his throat, and Arthur turns to smile at him. "You coming in?"

Eames grins. "Can't turn down that offer," he says. Arthur opens the shower curtain for him and Eames gets in. He wraps his arms around Arthur and kisses him, slower this time, now that they're both a little calmer.

After a couple minutes of this, Arthur starts laughing and pulling away. "You know, I am actually going to have to wash myself at some point."

Eames thinks on that for a moment. "Not necessarily," he points out, picking up the clean washcloth that Arthur placed on the edge of the tub. Arthur smiles. Eames pours some body wash into the washcloth and gets behind Arthur, so that Eames' back is facing the shower head. He brings his hand round to Arthur's chest and soaps him up lazily, kissing his neck. "God, you're beautiful," Eames says against Arthur's ear.

He can feel Arthur sigh. "I can't believe this is real," Arthur says finally.

Eames starts to wash lower. "Neither can I," he admits. He brushes the washcloth under Arthur's belly button, down and out toward his hip. Arthur's back arches the tiniest bit. That drives Eames crazy. "It was only yesterday, I was in here by myself," he says, softly scrubbing the inside of Arthur's thigh, "wishing you were the one touching me." Arthur's back Arches a little more, his ass pressing back against Eames' hips. "Arthur," Eames sighs, dropping the washcloth in favor of running his bare hand back up Arthur's thigh. He traces his fingertips along Arthur's hipbone.

Arthur turns to face Eames, still wrapped in his arms. He places his hands on Eames' chest and kisses him. Eames holds on tight to Arthur, his mind racing, lost in him entirely. He moves his hand down Arthur's back, down to his ass, grabbing a handful and squeezing. Arthur hums approvingly, and before Eames thinks, he's slipping a fingertip between Arthur's cheeks, sliding it down his crack, brushing against his hole for a moment.

Arthur pulls away from the kiss with a groan. He throws his head back and makes a face that looks almost pained, but hungry all the same. He pushes himself away from Eames, and it's only then that Eames remembers himself, remembers that he and Arthur have barely talked about any of this, that Arthur told him just a few hours ago how he might be inexperienced compared to Eames. "I'm sorry," Eames ekes out desperately. "Arthur, I'm so sorry," the words are tumbling out of him now. "I wasn't thinking, I shouldn't have... I should have asked, I should have—"

Arthur is shaking his head, his eyes shut. His back is against the wall, and he's bracing himself with one hand on the curtain rod. He's panting, Eames realizes, and his face is flushed. "No," he mutters. He opens his eyes and reaches out to brush his fingertips against Eames' chest. "I," he begins, catching his breath. "I liked that," he says, nodding. 

Eames can't help but smile a little at that, though he still feels guilty. "I still should have asked," he says.

Arthur regains his composure. "It's fine," he says. "I want to do all those things with you," he says, shyly, like he's too timid for any more specificity just yet. "Just, when there's more time."

Eames nods. "I think that's a good idea," he says, looking and seeing Arthur's getting a little hard again. "We should still talk about it," he says. "You and I should be able to talk about anything," he points out.

Arthur kisses him. "We should absolutely talk about it," he agrees. "Once we're not naked anymore," he adds, bringing his hands down and prodding at his cock less-than-gracefully, trying to preemptively rid himself of the erection.

They finish up in the shower and get out to dry off and primp all over again. They get back into their suits, even though Eames complains about it the whole time. Eventually, he whines enough that Arthur decides to tie his tie and button his waistcoat for him ("but  _darling_ , you're so good at it").

Arthur yawns on the way out of the room and they decide they ought to stop in at the store in the lobby to get a couple energy drinks if they have any intention of partying all night, and Eames has every intention of partying all night. He's looking forward to the chance to dance with Arthur. Of course, they danced earlier today, and that was glorious and romantic, but now Eames is looking forward to getting good and dirty with Arthur. He remembers the way Arthur danced at their parties, once he really started to let loose. Rolling his body, grinding up against pretty girls. Eames wants in on that. He always has.

The head to the lounge with their Red Bulls and Eames starts setting up his laptop, hooking it up to the sound system. Arthur sits nearby. Having something to busy himself puts Eames more at ease. "So," he begins. "What sort of experience..." He pauses. "I mean, if you want to tell me," he tries again. It's frustrating to stammer over his words like this.

"Yeah," Arthur says. "Well, not much. Mostly I've just made out with guys." Eames starts toying with some settings on the stereo, trying not to stress Arthur out, trying not to stress himself out. "There's been some... over-the-clothes touching with that," he says.

"Naturally," Eames nods.

Arthur cracks a little smile. "Naturally. There was one time it went further than that," he says. Eames doesn't like the way his stomach feels. "At this club, once," he goes on, "with this guy."

Eames hates feeling jealous, and doesn't want to let on, but his curiosity outweighs his pride. "How far?"

Arthur takes a gulp from his can. "He jerked me off," Arthur admits. "I've never," he starts again, "I've never been inside anybody. Well, any guy. And I've never had anybody inside of me."

That makes Eames' cock twitch a little. He doesn't really believe in virginity, but the idea that Arthur might want him to be the first one inside him, or that Eames might be the first guy Arthur is ever inside, is intoxicating. "What about by yourself?" Eames asks, cocking an eyebrow and smirking.

Arthur's mouth twitches, fighting a smile. He chews his lip a little before answering. "Yeah, sometimes," he says.

Eames groans a little, grinning ear to ear now, he knows. He steps away from his laptop and a little closer to Arthur. "Toys?" he asks, which makes Arthur blush for the umpteenth time today. He's so lovely when his face gets flush.

Arthur shakes his head. "No," he says, holding up a hand. "Just the old-fashioned way." He wiggles his fingers.

Eames sighs. "Sounds like a lovely sight," he says, stepping even closer, taking Arthur's hand. "I confess, I've imagined it before." He thinks he sees Arthur shiver. "Would you let me watch you?"

"Maybe," Arthur says. "Seems like a waste, though."

"Why's that?" Eames asks, leaning in to nip at Arthur's earlobe.

Arthur sighs. "When I imagine you, you're never just watching."

Eames feels that in his cock, and he hums against Arthur's ear. He has to pull himself away. "Sorry," he says. "That's not talking." He lifts his energy drink and realize it's still nearly full. He chugs half of it.

Arthur's running his hands through his hair. "People are gonna start getting here any minute," he says. "Come kiss me."

Eames is happy to obey.


	10. Arthur V

Yusuf and Ariadne arrive just a few minutes before 8. Yusuf and Eames go about moving the tables around to set up places to play beer pong and flip-cup. Ariadne and Arthur pretend to make themselves busy around the bar.

"Sooooo," Ariadne says, poking Arthur in the ribs.

"Sooooo what?" Arthur asks, unnecessarily, as he knows just what she means. He's reorganizing things behind the bar. He's always been particularly good at setting up the bar; it's one of the things that got him promoted so quickly to head bartender at the Loaded Die. Whoever's in charge of keeping this place organized could use some more attention to detail, Arthur thinks.

"Come on!" Ariadne whines. "You know Eames will tell Yusuf everything, and then Yusuf won't tell me anything! I'll be all alone in my ignorance."

Arthur smiles. He's flipping every other glass beneath the counter over, so they'll take up less space. "You  _really_ want to know, don't you?"

Ariadne nods frantically. "How long has it been since we got to do this? You used to tell me every detail when you hooked up with somebody!"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "This is different," he says. "This is Eames..."

Ariadne nods even more frantically. "Yeah! That makes it even  _better_!" Arthur laughs at that. " _Soooooooo_..." Ariadne says again.

" _Sooo_ ," he groans back at her. "So we walked back and—"

"Did you guys hold hands?" she teases.

Arthur fake-glares at her with thin eyes. "Maybe," he says. Ariadne is giddy. "And we went upstairs and... made out," he says.

Ariadne has a shit-eating grin on her face. "And what else?"

Arthur twists his mouth up, trying to turn his grin into a pout, failing. "And he... jerked me off. Or..." Ariadne's eyes are already wide, and she's nodding supportively for Arthur to finish his sentence. "Jerked... us off." He pretends to hone in intently on a smudge on the bar, rubbing at it with a rag.

"You are red, red, red," she sings at him. "So what do you mean... like, both your dicks, together?"

Arthur nods. "To be honest, I don't know why that never occurred to me."

Ariadne eats a handful of wasabi peas from a dish on the bar, then whines about how hot they are, grabs Arthur's Red Bull and helps herself to a swig. "I should get one of these," she says, hopping up from her stool. "Come to the store with me?"

Arthur throws the rag in the sink and agrees.

When they're in the store, she's still asking him questions. "So what gives, dude?" she asks. "You've been into guys all this time and you never told me?"

Arthur laughs. "I've been into  _Eames_ all this time."

"What about the thing with Robert?" she asks. Arthur told her about that after it happened. He only let on as much as need be, that he thought he might have feelings for Robert, but after kissing him, realized it wasn't really what he wanted. He then let Ariadne assume that this meant he was straight, once-and-for-all.

"Well, yeah," he says. "But that's the thing. I tried with Robert, and then some other guys, and I could never get too far."

Ariadne is beaming. "Had to hold out for your  _one true loooove_ ," she coos. "This is unreal, Arthur. You and Eames? I love this. I am, like, genuinely more excited about this than the fact that I just got married."

"Yeah, me too," Arthur admits with a smirk. She sticks her tongue out at him.

They leave the store after they pay. Ariadne pops the top on her Red Bull and takes a sip. "So you've never done any butt stuff, then," she says, matter-of-factly.

Arthur sighs, smiles, rubs his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose. There's something about Ariadne's bluntness and crassness that has always been endearing to Arthur. It's surprising; she's not the type of person Arthur would have thought he'd become so close to, but she was just what he needed arriving at college. She has no shame, doesn't let arbitrary things like "manners" or "social graces" or "public decency" get in her way. Arthur admires it, really. "No," Arthur finally answers.

"Not even with girls?" she asks. He shakes his head. "By yourself?"

Arthur giggles in spite of himself. If you'd asked him last week whether he'd openly discuss the fact that he plays with his ass sometimes with two separate people (even his best friends), the answer would have been a resounding  _no_ , but everything's different now. "Sometimes," he admits.

Ariadne is delighted by this, which doesn't surprise Arthur one bit. She's always been a self-proclaimed "little deviant," and she relishes sexual details, one-and-all. And has never been shy about sharing her own. Arthur knows a lot about Yusuf. There are things you can't unlearn.

"God, how did I  _never know..._ " she says.

"I couldn't believe it myself," Arthur admits. "I'm glad you know now. I didn't like keeping it from you."

"Why did you?" she asks.

Arthur thinks for a minute. "I loved the way things were," he says. "I never really thought this could happen, and I didn't want to risk our friendship. All of our friendships."

"Noble Ser Arthur," Ariadne says fancifully, "sacrificing love for honor."

"No longer," he says. He hooks an arm around her shoulder. "Onward!" They head back to the lounge, where Eames and Yusuf are waiting at the bar (where two bartenders are now at work, looking a little irritated at the changes Arthur made back there) next to four shots, and a Bruno Mars song is starting to play.

_"It's a beautiful night, we're looking for something dumb to do; hey, baby, I think I wanna marry you."_

-

By 11 o'clock, the place is packed, Arthur's jacket and waistcoat have been discarded and forgotten. The four of them have stepped out for cigarettes a number of times, half the pack gone already. The turnout is impressive. Most of the younger guests from the wedding are there, but in addition, loads of people they went to college with have made the trip to Boston specifically for this after-party. Everyone's struggling to catch up with one another as they get drunk. The music is loud, and everyone's really just begun to dance. Eames always waits to start the best music until everyone's good and fucked up.

After the shot with Eames and Ariadne and Yusuf, Arthur decided to stick to beer, which was often his policy in college. Beers are easier to keep track of, and less likely to induce violent vomiting than if he were mixing liquors all night, and he definitely doesn't want to get wasted tonight. He's got big plans.

The game tables are all occupied. Ariadne and Yusuf have been on one of the beer pong tables for at least six or seven games now. Currently, they're playing against Mal and Dom. Mal is putting up a good fight, sinking a few cups. Dom, on the other hand, is clenching his jaw and swearing, missing every shot. The bridesmaids are playing flip-cup against Yusuf's brothers and a couple of their friends who weren't at the wedding. Eames is by his laptop, beer in hand, talking with Robert. Arthur imagines the conversation began with Eames scolding Robert for hiding his grand realization about Arthur's feelings for Eames all those years ago, but now the two of them are laughing and chatting, more fondly than they ever did in college. It's nice to see.

He hears Ariadne and Yusuf cheering very loudly, and looks over to see that they've each made the last cup, winning the game. Mal is laughing at Dom, who is clearly a bit of a poor sport, though eventually he cracks a little grin. Then, Arthur hears Eames' laugh, a sound he loves, and he glances over at where he and Robert are talking, now joined by Emma and Masha. He sees Masha trying her hand (literally) at the wrist-flicking move from the 'Single Ladies' dance, and Eames looks over at Arthur, widening his eyes. Arthur knows well enough that this means the song will end up playing any time now, and he'll be dragged off by Emma and Ariadne (Arthur thinks she's probably willing to abandon the beer pong table for long enough) to dance to it.

They were sophomores when the song came out, and Ariadne and Emma were adamant about learning the dance, and they enlisted Arthur to be their third single lady. That was how they all—Arthur included—found out just how good of a dancer Arthur was. After that, he at least pretended to object every time the song started, but always got up anyway. If Arthur's honest with himself, dancing embarrassed him at first, but others' reactions bolstered his confidence. Dancing is probably the only time he relishes attention the way that Eames does. Maybe it's a vestigial trait from when he played sports growing up. He'd played just about every sport that he could, and knowing he was technically proficient, he'd had no trouble playing in front of even a massive crowd.

Eames smiles at him from across the lounge. Arthur smiles back, and almost instantly he forgets about everything else. He's still blissfully mooning over Eames when he hears a lovely French voice from beside him.

"Look at you, over here," Mal teases, "staring longingly."

Arthur laughs. "You're a little meddlesome, aren't you?" he observes with a grin.

She grins right back, and Arthur is overwhelmed with comfort and familiarity, like he's known Mal for years. "I am passionate," she corrects him.

"How very French," he says.

She laughs at that. "It is," she admits. "We are advocates for love."

Arthur swallows. "You know, we haven't actually said it," he tells her. "'Love.'"

She waves her hand, dismissing the notion. "Oh, please, you have said it all day long with your eyes," she says. "I think you are secretly a romantic, Arthur."

Arthur smirks and takes a long sip of his beer. "Well," he begins, looking around at increasingly sloppy guests hanging off of one another. "I think everyone's had enough romance today. I think it's time for the other thing." He wiggles his eyebrows a little. Man, he's drunker than he thought.

Mal giggles. "Perhaps you are right," she says. Arthur has half forgotten to expect it when he hears 'Single Ladies' start. He's about to excuse himself properly when Ariadne and Emma rush him, dragging him over to the small dance floor.

Arthur's drunk—on the day, on Mal's accent, on the stupid smile on Eames' stupid beautiful face, on the memories of Eames' hands on his body, on so much beer—and he's dancing before he knows it, giving it his all. He hasn't done the dance in a few years, but it's like getting back on a bike. He grinds his hips and throws his head back like he's done so many times. There's so many people around—some dancing, some watching—but he's thinking only of Eames. Arthur catches his eye a few times and grins, feeling sexy, knowing now Eames must love watching him dance, must always have loved it.

The song ends, and moments into the next one, everyone's dancing. Eames is suddenly beside Arthur, and he pulls him close. "You are gorgeous," Eames says, and the words smell like smoke and alcohol. Arthur knows he must be red-faced from so much dancing, and drinking, and lovely words from Eames. He cups Eames' face in his hands and kisses him.

Eames tastes amazing. Arthur thinks about how many times he's wished he could do this, just grab hold of Eames and kiss him, anywhere he liked and in front of anybody, the way he's seen Ariadne do to Yusuf so many times. His brain just barely registers the many reactions of people nearby who hadn't seen them together at the wedding, who are seeing old pals Arthur and Eames sucking face on the dance floor—the general consensus seems to be shocked approval. He doesn't give it much thought.

He's too wrapped up in Eames. In Eames' arms around his waist, his fingers playing on the small of Arthur's back. In Eames' tongue sweeping over his, Eames' teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

Arthur presses his hips to Eames' and starts rolling to the beat. It's too loud to hear well, but Arthur's pretty sure he can  _feel_ Eames groan. Arthur gives him the sultriest stare he can manage, eyes soft and round, lips parted. Eames bites his lip and turns Arthur around, pulling his ass hard against his hips. Arthur closes his eyes and lets his head fall back against Eames' shoulder. Eames is grinding up against Arthur's ass, and Arthur remembers watching Eames dance behind so many girls at college, remembers the look on his face, the way he'd run his hands along their hips and bellies, the way he'd wrap his arm around their waists. Arthur always wished he could be the one to get Eames worked up that way. And now, as he feels Eames pushing up against him in sync with the music, Eames' fingers brushing across his abs, he's high on it.

They've only danced to a couple songs when Eames brings a hand up to brush Arthur's hair behind his ear (though it's too short to stay put there). Eames nips at Arthur's earlobe and squeezes tighter on his hip. Arthur can feel Eames' cock hardening quickly against his ass. Arthur grabs the hand that's on his hip and without so much as a backward glance to Eames, he pulls him toward the bar, through the door behind it and into the kitchen.

Arthur glances around, holding tight to Eames' hand. He spies a pantry, and opens it, seeing it's at least large enough for the two of them, albeit a little cluttered. He pulls his Eames inside and shuts the door. There's no lock on it, so Arthur pushes Eames back up against the door to hold it closed.

"What's this?" Eames asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Arthur kisses him. He grabs Eames' cock over his pants, and Eames inhales sharply. "I never thought I could do this to you," he says. "Make you so hard like this." He presses his thumb against the head of Eames' cock and drags it down his length.

Eames places his hand over Arthur's, shadowing it. "You have always done this to me, darling," he says, eyes closed. "All these years, having to take care of myself, thinking of you."

Arthur presses a light kiss to Eames' jaw. "All these years," he echoes. Slowly, he kisses lower, down his neck. He loosens Eames' tie and unbuttons a couple buttons on his oxford, freeing his collarbone enough to press even more kisses to it. He runs his hands down over Eames' shirt, along his chest, his stomach, finally coming to rest at his belt.

Eames opens his eyes. "What are you doing?"

Arthur lowers himself to his knees and looks up at Eames as he unbuckles his belt. "Taking care of you," he says before licking his lips.

"You don't have to—"

" _Shh_ ," Arthur insists. Eames lets his head fall back as Arthur undoes his fly. He pulls Eames' pants and briefs down just enough to let his hard-on spring free. He's uncut, Arthur noticed before. It was a little jarring for a moment, but he doesn't mind one bit. He takes Eames' cock in his fist, giving a couple gentle, small strokes, feeling it out.

"Arthur," Eames mutters. Arthur expects him to say more, but he doesn't. He must admit it's a bit of a turn-on that he can actually get Eames to shut up by doing this (something he's never managed by any other means), but he longs to hear Eames' gravelly voice. When they were upstairs before, Arthur's body shivered at every word, every endearment, every encouragement.

Arthur pulls back Eames' foreskin gently, experimentally. Without even really thinking, he presses a kiss to the hot, pink, slick head of his cock. Eames looks down at him again, and Arthur looks up, loving this, licking some pre-cum off his lips. He licks at Eames' head gently. Eames brings his hand up to his mouth, biting down on his knuckle and moaning softly. "You taste nice," Arthur says against Eames' cock, bathing it in breath.

Eames looks at him with something almost like pain in his eyes. "Christ, Arthur," he says.

Arthur takes Eames into his mouth, slowly, tentatively at first. Even when he gulps down a little more, he keeps his hand wrapped around the base, stroking a little, and hopefully preventing himself from choking. Arthur's never done this, of course, but he's surprisingly confident—after all, he knows what he likes in a blowjob, and tries his best to perform well. He hears no complaints from Eames. Still, after a few minutes, he lets Eames go with a soft sucking noise. "How is it?" he asks. Eames looks down with that pained look again, like he really can't handle this. He nods. "Tell me," Arthur says, starting to stroke with his hand again, dragging his lips up the side of Eames' cock.

"Don't stop," he says. "You're amazing, darling." Arthur smiles and takes Eames in again, swallowing him down as far as he can go. He feels the head of Eames' dick press against the back of his throat and gags a little, but doesn't want to stop. Eames has a hand placed on the back of Arthur's head, not pushing, just resting, moving with Arthur. "It's amazing," he says. "I won't be able to—" he stutters a minute as Arthur does his best to swirl his tongue around the head, "—hold... hold on much longer..."

Arthur rubs a hand up Eames' side and lets it rest on his ribs. Eames is stiff underneath him, braced tight against the door. Arthur ignores the slight trace of self-doubt about letting Eames come in his mouth. He kind of feels like he couldn't stop if he wanted to. He wants to taste Eames, wants to swallow him, wants him dripping down his throat. He's overwhelmed by how badly he wants it, having only imagined this particular scenario a handful of times. He tries to look up at Eames, whose fingers are threaded into Arthur's hair now, not controlling, but not exactly gentle either. Arthur relishes it, and drags his free hand up the inside of Eames' thigh, finally dipping into his briefs and brushing over his balls.

Eames lets out a whimper at that, so Arthur gulps even more quickly and cradles Eames' balls, giving them a gentle squeeze. A moment later, come is spilling down his throat. Arthur swallows, and swallows, and swallows once more, not wanting to risk a mess. Eames seems to be doing all he can to keep himself from thrusting shallowly into Arthur's mouth. When Eames is finished coming, Arthur sucks him clean, finding he doesn't mind the taste. All he has to remind himself is that he's tasting  _Eames_ , and suddenly he can't get enough.

Eames pulls himself together and helps Arthur to his feet, wraps him in his arms, and kisses him deeply. Arthur's extremely turned on by how willing and eager Eames is as he drives his tongue into Arthur's mouth, exploring without a care that he's tasting the come he left behind.

When he finally pulls away with a gasp, he looks into Arthur's eyes adoringly. "You've never done that before?" he asks.

Arthur shakes his head. "Never. Was it good?" he asks, perhaps affecting his voice to be  _too_ innocent, judging by the smirk on Eames' face.

"You have a gift, darling," he says before tucking himself away.

Arthur buckles up his pants for him. "Good to know," he says. "Who knew it was so easy to shut you up? I've never heard you say so little." Eames blushes at that. "And I don't think I've ever wanted to hear you talk more."

"Oh yeah?" Eames asks. Arthur nods. Eames brushes over Arthur's cheek with his thumb. "Duly noted," he growls before pressing his mouth to Arthur's again. It's softer than before, but Arthur's heart is pounding in his chest all the same. It feels near to bursting, apparently working overtime pumping all the blood in his body directly to his penis. "I'll have to return the favor," Eames adds when he pulls away. He licks his lips, and Arthur is tempted for a moment to take him up on that offer right now.

But he's drunk and thrilled, and they haven't been able to party like this with everyone in so long. "Later," Arthur finally says. "The night is young." He reaches into his pants with little prudence to adjust himself.

Eames laughs. "Have you actually got any idea what time it is?"

Arthur nods, trying to make himself look serious but knowing he's grinning like an idiot. "It's party time," he says, nearly straight-faced for a moment. Eames laughs and takes Arthur's hand. They head back out to the party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fought the Single Ladies dance as hard as I could but I just ended up so married to the idea of Arthur doing it... Especially the bit with the generous hip-swiveling... (at 0:50 if this chapter makes you want to watch the music video as much as it made me...). My apologies if it makes you cringe. Rest-assured it's less indulgent than my first draft!


	11. Eames V

They're beckoned to Yusuf and Ariadne's beer pong table almost immediately. Right now they're playing Fischer and Emma but they've got them on the ropes. Eames and Arthur watch and, of course, encourage Fischer and Emma to overthrow the champs. Eames puts on a good face, if he says so himself, and manages to concentrate well enough on the game and his surroundings rather than the fact that  _Arthur just blew him_. What a night. _  
_

Sure enough, Yusuf and Ariadne win in a matter of minutes. Ariadne gloats very loudly and then turns her attention to Eames and Arthur, going on and on about a "couple's showdown." Yusuf is merely happy to keep sinking shots all night, owning the table and demolishing all who cross their path.

"We're going to lose, you know," Arthur says, pouting. Arthur, for all his athleticism, has never been all that talented at beer pong. And once he's drunk, he's hopeless. But Eames has no problem carrying the team, as he's done when partnered with Arthur many times before.

They put up a good fight (or at least Eames does; Arthur misses every shot and giggles incessantly each time), and have a good time making little grabs at each other, stealing brief, wet kisses. Eames does all the drinking, as Arthur opts to drink two bottles of water instead, sobering up a bit (thought it doesn't help his performance any). Ultimately, Yusuf and Ariadne put them to shame, and consider it a satisfactory final victory. They yield the table to four new players.

Eames, Yusuf, and Ariadne take a note from Arthur and make their way to the bar for their own bottles of water. They stand there for a few minutes, hydrating and chatting with (shouting at) one another. The way Yusuf keeps staring at Ariadne reminds Eames of the days when the two of them had just starting dating, when Yusuf was starry-eyed, verging on hypnotized, all the time. Then there's Arthur beside him, with his hand on the small of Eames' back, fingers drawing circles against the fabric of his shirt. Eames is way more drunk on love than he is on beer.

The small dance floor is crowded by now. Yusuf's nervously eyeing his younger brother, who's dancing with Ariadne's cousin, Isabelle. Nearby, Fischer is sandwiched between Masha and Emma, who are laughing, but determined nonetheless. Robert, however, seems intently focused on the hunky bartender that's been giving him eyes all night. Kat is getting slinky with Bobby, a guy they went to college with. Eames has been told many times that while he was blackout drunk one night, he punched Bobby in the jaw over a dispute regarding the lead singer of Herman's Hermits, Peter Noone.  _He's the unsung hero of the British Invasion!_ is a phrase he's heard thrown around frequently when the matter is discussed.

Eames finishes his water and gets another. Arthur gets a third. "Dance with me again," Eames says to Arthur. Arthur beams and nods, happily following Eames to the floor. Yusuf and Ariadne make their way out as well, but Eames doesn't pay them much mind.

He and Arthur face each other this time, and they grind against each other for a few songs. Arthur's looking much more sober now, more determined, smiling a little less, and giving Eames these increasingly desperately, longing looks. Eames is sobering up himself, and the less he feels the alcohol, the more he just feels... plain  _lust_. He turns Arthur around, pulling him against his hips just like before, one arm around his chest.

Everyone's plenty distracted pressed up against their own partners, so Eames takes the opportunity to rest his head beside Arthur's and say filthy things to him, after noting earlier that his voice seems to have quite an effect on Arthur. "I can't stop thinking about your mouth," he says, and instantly Arthur is pressing harder back against him. "It felt so lovely wrapped around my cock, darling." Arthur lets his head fall back on Eames' shoulder a moment, but he keeps dancing. "Do you think you'd like to know what mine feels like?"

The music is loud, but he can feel Arthur humming an affirmation as he gulps down the rest of his water and crunches the plastic bottle in his hand.

"I wanted to get my mouth 'round you when we were upstairs," Eames says, his lips wet against Arthur's ear now. "But I didn't think you could hold out for me, and I  _knew_  I couldn't hold out for you." Arthur cranes his neck back to face Eames, but Eames kisses him for just a moment before nudging Arthur's head back so it's facing forward. He loves the reaction his words are getting out of him.

"But after this," Eames goes on, "we'll have plenty of time for me to kiss you  _everywhere_." Arthur arches his back, and Eames can barely hear him moan. "Mm, just think about it, your perfect cock in my mouth, warm and wet..." Arthur's back arches even further, if it's possible. Eames glances up to see Ariadne watching, mouth open at this display. Eames winks at her and she raises her eyebrows, smiles, and turns back to Yusuf.

Arthur turns around desperately to face Eames again, and when he presses close to him, Eames feels Arthur's erection against his leg. The dancing is starting to verge on obscene. Arthur's doing what he can to keep himself from tactlessly thrusting against Eames right here, he can tell. "Maybe you'd want my mouth someplace else," he says, next to Arthur's ear again. His head is swimming and, truth be told, he's almost shy about saying these things to his proper-Arthur, but he certainly never thought it would have him reacting like this, poured and slumped against Eames' body, grabbing at his muscles, breathing hard against his neck. "Maybe you'd let me eat this," he says finally, firmly gripping Arthur's ass with both hands.

At that, Arthur groans loudly, his face buried in Eames' neck, his cock fully hard against Eames' thigh. Eames doesn't realize just how loud the sound is until he sees the look on Emma's face. Emma's the closest to them, and she looks at Eames with wide eyes, surprised and possibly impressed. It's only then Eames gets a bit of a hold on himself, reminding himself they're not in college anymore, and he's not keen on becoming  _that_  couple at the party. It seems Arthur's had a similar realization when he breathes heavily against Eames' ear, saying, "We need to get out of here."

Eames nods. "Go on upstairs," he says. "I'll get our things."

"Don't make me wait too long," Arthur says, kissing Eames sort-of-chastely before finally letting him go, digging his hands deep into his pockets, making his way for the lobby. Eames sighs watching him go, mind already racing with scenes of what might await him in a few minutes upstairs.

Eames taps Yusuf on the shoulder on his way to the bar, where he's pretty sure he left his tie—probably also his jacket and his waistcoat, but definitely his tie. He motions for Yusuf to come over. Yusuf does, with Ariadne at his heels. "Calling it a night already?" Yusuf asks.

Eames nods. "Yes, yes, yes," he chants mindlessly as he collects his tie, two waistcoats, and one jacket from one of the seats at the bar. He's counting up the items and finding himself short, which is infuriating. Where did Arthur put his damn jacket?

He looks up to see Yusuf staring at him, his hands raised in confusion. "Did you... need me for something, then?" he asks.

"Right," Eames recalls. "My laptop. Can you pack it up and take it with you when you're done?"

Yusuf pouts, but ultimately shrugs and agrees. Ariadne chimes in. "You better get your ass up there, buddy," she warns. "You really had him worked up there."

"Yeah, I saw you admiring my work, you little perv," he replies, scanning the area still for the missing jacket. "Fuck! Where's his bloody jacket?" he practically shouts, loud enough for Emma to once again overhear.

She comes over and points to the other side of the lounge, to where Kat and Bobby are now getting cozy in a sitting area. "He gave it to Kat outside before," Emma says, over the music. "It's over there!"

"My angel!" Eames exclaims. She really looks it right now, glowing with sweat, wisps of golden hair escaping her crown braid. He and Arthur have always shared a common weakness for Emma. That's funny to think about now. He kisses her on the cheek before darting across the lounge to Kat, plucking up the jacket (which is, thank goodness, folded nicely over the back of her chair), and weaving his way back to the bar.

Eames feels like he should really say goodbye to everyone who came out so far, but he's also become a man on a mission: get back to Arthur, as soon as possible, by any means necessary. He expresses as much to Yusuf. "Everybody important will be at brunch tomorrow," Yusuf reminds him. "Just make sure you guys are done by then," he adds with a wink. Eames grins and heads upstairs.

-

He enters their room and closes the door behind him. Then he spots the Do-Not-Disturb sign and opens the door again a moment, just to slip it on the knob.

The bathroom door opens and Arthur is standing there, stark naked, water droplets spotting his skin. He's got a towel in his hand, but Eames doesn't give him time to dry himself any further. Instead, he wraps him in his arms and pulls him over to the bed. Arthur's pressing frantic little kisses to Eames' neck, trying to get his hands between them to unbutton Eames' shirt.

Eames finally lets him go when they're next to the bed. Arthur's surprisingly deft fingers have Eames' shirt open in no time. He runs his hands down Eames' chest and unbuckles his belt and opens his fly, but that's it. Then Arthur's pulling Eames down by his open shirt. Eames falls on top of him and crashes their mouths together, teeth gnashing.

Eames grabs Arthur by the back of the neck with one hand, and grips his ass with the other, making Arthur moan into his mouth. After a minute, Eames pulls away.

"Seems silly to have showered," he says to Arthur. "You're just going to get dirty again."

Arthur blushes a deep red. "I just, I wanted to be clean for..." he trails off, running a fingertip down Eames' chest to trace over the Latin words inked on his abs, next to his belly button. "What you said before," Arthur says softly. "You'd want to do that?"

Eames grins. "Eat you out?" he asks. Arthur bites his lip and nods. "I've thought about it often," he says. It's true. Arthur's ass is quite literally perfect. "If you'd let me... I'd be so good for you—"

"I'd let you," Arthur says quickly. Eames can't help but stare hungrily at him until he starts kissing down Arthur's neck, his collarbone, lets his lips brush down over his ribs, drags his tongue down past his belly button. Arthur's breathing hard, his hands on Eames' shoulders until he's out of reach.

"You sure?" Eames asks, his mouth against Arthur's skin, and nips at his hip bone.

"Very," Arthur says, nodding.

"Lie down on your stomach," Eames tells him, and Arthur does so. Eames runs his hands down Arthur's back, down to his ass, squeezing. He leans in and lingers there for a moment, just breathing on his cheeks. Then slowly, Eames spreads Arthur open. He smiles at the sight—one he  _definitely_ didn't think he'd ever see. He rubs the pad of his thumb against Arthur's hole gently, just for a moment. Arthur inhales sharply at the contact, and Eames can't wait any longer. He drags his tongue down Arthur's crack, all the way to his perineum. Arthur gasps, grabs a pillow, and wraps his arms around it. Eames grins when Arthur presses his face to it. That's a good sign.

Eames just uses the flat of his tongue for a while, licking across Arthur's hole over and over again, kissing it and the skin all around it, his hands still firm on Arthur's cheeks, holding him open. He can't help groaning and humming against Arthur, which Arthur seems to enjoy.

Eames pulls back for a moment just to rub his hands up Arthur's back, smooth and soft, taut, then back down to grab his ass tight again. "Beautiful," he mutters, taking in the view. Arthur looks back to him for a moment and Eames smiles at him. "Beautiful Arthur," he says, then leans back in to tongue him again.

"God, Eames," Arthur grunts. Eames glances up to see Arthur shutting his eyes again and dropping his head back to the pillow in his arms. He starts pushing his ass back against Eames' mouth, and Eames has no complaints about that. He starts probing with his tongue. He pushes the blunt tip to Arthur's entrance, and is delighted when Arthur begins to open up for him. So Eames pushes his tongue inside him, not so very far, but enough, and again and again. It sounds like Arthur has a mouthful of pillow, but it can only muffle his moans, not silence them.

Eames goes from prodding gently to thrusting his tongue much deeper. He feels Arthur tense up as he wiggles his tongue a bit, swirling around inside him. He pulls his tongue out. "How is that?" he asks.

Arthur lifts his face from the pillow, his chest pressed hard to the mattress. He's panting hard, but manages to answer. "Good," he mutters, "you feel so good." He looks back to face Eames again, and Eames can only grin back as he brings a finger to his mouth, sucking on it before moving it back toward Arthur's ass.

He rubs Arthur's hole gently with his fingertip. "You're getting nice and loose," he says, as raspy and low as he can manage, having noticed by now that it makes Arthur crazy. "Think you could be ready for a little more?"

He sees Arthur swallow. "I think so," he answers Eames. Eames darts his tongue over his hole a few more times.

"I need you to know so, darling," Eames manages to keep his tongue in his mouth long enough to say. Then he starts fucking Arthur with it again.

Arthur lets out a whine that Eames is certain he will remember for the rest of his life. "Please, Eames," he says. "Your fingers..."

Eames licks his lips. "You want them inside you?" he asks. Arthur nods. "Tell me, love," Eames encourages, getting off on teasing him.

"I want them inside me," Arthur whispers breathlessly. His words send shivers through Eames' body and right to his cock. He growls as he dives back between Arthur's cheeks, with no finesse or grace whatsoever, laving Arthur's hole with his tongue, drenching him. He gets so wrapped up that he _almost_ forgets that he's supposed to be moving on. He pulls away from Arthur, gasping, feeling around frantically for his duffle bag before realizing it's on the other side of the room by the window. He pushes himself to standing and scrambles over the other bed to dig into one of the inside pockets of his bag for the little bottle of lube he nearly left at home. He says a silent thank you to past-Eames for coming through for him.

Eames turns back to see him turning over onto his back, and propping himself up on his elbows, cock stiff and red against his belly. "God, I want you so much," Arthur says, cool and low. Eames licks his lips and makes his way back over to him. He snatches the damp towel beside Arthur up and wipes his face with it, and then he doesn't waste any time. The bottle's open and he's on his knees, nosing at Arthur's balls and kissing the inside of his thighs.

"I want _you_ , Arthur," he says, breath hot against Arthur's skin. "Want you more than I've ever wanted anyone," he goes on, "anything." He nips at Arthur's thigh and sucks gently. Arthur's fingers rake through Eames' hair, sweet but urgent. Eames slicks up just one finger and eases it slowly inside Arthur.

Arthur tenses up, and Eames' eyes nearly roll back in his head at the feeling of Arthur  _squeezing_ around his finger. "Can't believe it," he says amidst staggered breath. "Jesus, I thought I'd never get to feel you." There's a short time then when Eames can't bring himself to do anything but soak in the reality around him: Arthur spilling such pretty words to him, flushed red before him, naked and tight around Eames' finger. Eames makes a mental note of how  _incredibly_ fucking lucky he is. He remembers himself as Arthur's muscles start to relax, and pushes in and out of him gently. "Oh," Arthur sighs and squirms. Eames thinks he prefers this to eating Arthur's ass, if only because now he can properly take in the sight of Arthur writhing. He quickens his pace, though he isn't rough.

He climbs up onto the bed to lie alongside Arthur. "Do you like it?" he asks softly, breathing beside Arthur's ear.

Arthur turns his head and meets Eames' lips, not kissing them, but letting them linger there, barely touching. "Uh-huh," he moans against him.

"You feel so amazing on the inside, darling," Eames whispers into his ear. "So soft and warm..." Eames curls his finger, twisting his wrist, and his fingertip must brush something spectacular inside Arthur, as Arthur presses his hips down, his back arching up off the mattress. "Oh, I think you liked that," Eames says, pleased with the reaction. He twists his finger again, back and forth, and again Arthur's back arches, and he presses his ass downward, trying to slide down as far as he can on Eames' finger. Eames suspects he's close, so he slowly removes it.

Arthur barely has time to moan, "More," as Eames quiets him with a kiss and squeezes another generous glob of lube onto his fingers.

"With pleasure, darling," Eames pulls away long enough to say, and then Arthur devours him again ravenously, bringing his hands up to Eames' hair, knitting them in, holding on tight. While they're kissing, Eames slides his hand back down, brushing his palm over Arthur's cock before dipping underneath his balls and slipping one slick finger back inside, then carefully adding another. Arthur breaks the kiss now, throwing his head back, his mouth hanging open.

"Fuck," Arthur grunts, snapping his jaw shut and grinding his teeth. He opens his eyes for a few moments, and Eames can only stare back, wide-eyed, fascinated, entranced. He's seen Arthur's lovely face make almost every conceivable expression over the years, but this is new. The way Arthur's eyes—when he manages to keep them open—are so filled with want, pleading. The way his brow knits and his forehead wrinkles and furrows, his face twisting up in something desperate, almost like pain. The way his jaw goes from being wired shut one minute, to hanging open to release gasps and moans the next.

Eames digs into Arthur, curling his fingers and feeling for that spot before that had Arthur wiggling so deliciously. He knows he's brushed against it when Arthur swears again, so he goes about milking Arthur's prostate until Arthur's hips are bucking wildly.  "Oh, fuck, oh my god," he mumbles out, followed by a slur of incoherent syllables. "Eames," he finally manages to eke out, and then repeats it again, like a prayer, like it's the only word he knows. "Eames... Eames...  _Eames_..."

Eames watches and listens and pushes and lets Arthur fuck himself on his fingers. "You want to come?" he asks softly. Arthur manages to nod amidst his sobs. "I"m gonna bring you there, love," Eames says, still curling and twisting his fingers. "You ready?"

Arthur nods again, and manages to whimper, "Please." His face, neck, and chest are flushed. There's a thin sheen of sweat all over his body. Judging by the look of him, Eames thinks a single touch might push him over the edge.

He isn't far off. Eames wraps his free hand around Arthur's cock. After one, two, three strokes, Arthur comes with a  _scream_. Eames finds himself groaning loudly at the suddenness and intensity of Arthur's orgasm. He buries his head in Arthur's neck, muttering, "That's it, that's it, darling." One hand is sticky with Arthur's come. The other is still beneath Arthur, two fingers trapped inside as his muscles clench tightly around them. He waits for Arthur to relax a little before slowly pulling them out, but all the same, Arthur whines, presumably at the sudden emptiness.

Eames lets go of Arthur's cock and dips to press a gentle kiss to it before it starts going soft. He looks up and Arthur has opened his eyes, his gaze locked intently on Eames. Eames takes the opportunity to slowly lick a spot of come right off Arthur's stomach, never taking his eyes off Arthur's, not 'til they roll back, and Arthur's head falls back to the mattress again. "Oh my god," he says, exasperated. "You're fucking amazing, Eames."

Eames smiles, savoring the taste of Arthur's come on his tongue, swallowing it slowly. He gets up, despite Arthur's minimalistic protestations (raising a hand toward him and pouting). "Hold on, darling," he says, leaning down and kissing him. He laces his fingers into Arthur's against the mattress. "Hold on," he says, again and again between Arthur's desperate kisses.

Arthur doesn't let go of Eames' hand, but instead lets Eames help him up off the bed and follows him to the bathroom. Eames wets a washcloth for Arthur before washing his hands and face. Once Arthur's wiped himself clean, he steps up behind Eames, rubbing his thigh and looking at his reflection in the mirror.

Those sleepy, sexy eyes could make Eames melt. He's drying off his face when Arthur starts pushing down his pants and briefs. Once it's free, Arthur reaches around to grab Eames' cock. Arthur kisses the back of his neck and Eames stiffens quickly in his hand (not that making Arthur come hadn't done its part to get the job started). Eames is pleasantly surprised at this new development. Arthur is breathing against his ear now, nipping at his earlobe, giving him chills. "Wanna make you feel good," Arthur mutters. "Wanna make you come."

"You're well on your way," Eames sighs. He looks down at Arthur's hand around his cock. "You have the loveliest hands, Arthur," he breathes. "I've always thought so." He reaches his hand up behind him to find Arthur's hair, his face, his neck, whatever he can get his fingers on.

Arthur's jerking him now, slowly, rubbing his cockhead with his foreskin every few strokes. His other hand is holding on to Eames' hip, fingernails digging into his skin. The sting makes Eames bite his lip, but he loves it. He moves his hand from Arthur's hair, following his jaw down and watching their reflection in the mirror as he slips two fingertips into Arthur's mouth.

Arthur's lips close around them eagerly. Eames tries _so_  hard not to, but eventually closes his eyes as Arthur sucks on his fingers. Eames uses his other hand to brace himself on the counter, leaning forward now. He's starting to thrust into Arthur's grip gracelessly. Arthur finds a way to match this new rhythm, moaning with Eames' fingers in his mouth.

Eames is swept up. His skin feels like it's on fire. "Arthur," he groans. Arthur just hums in response. Eames pictures the way Arthur wriggled beneath his touch before, the sound Arthur made as he came still echoing in his ears. "Oh, Arthur... Arthur." He bites down on his lip again to keep Arthur's name at bay for a moment before it comes spilling out of his mouth again. " _Arthur_ ," he grunts this time, low, guttural. Feeling so much of Arthur is sending him over the edge. His back sweaty up against Arthur's chest, his cock wrapped in Arthur's fist, his fingers hot and wet inside Arthur's mouth. "Arthur." He pulls his fingers free and stuffs them, dripping with Arthur's spit, into his own mouth in a desperate attempt to quiet himself.

Arthur's kissing Eames' neck in another moment. His hand is working Eames' cock furiously and Eames is so close. Eames places the hand that isn't in his mouth over Arthur's fingers, holding on to him, adding his own power to each stroke. Arthur pulls away from Eames' neck with an obscene sucking sound. "Come on," he says. "Open your eyes. Watch us make you come."

Eames growls and pulls his fingers from his mouth, reaching back to grab a fistful of Arthur's hair. Arthur hisses in his ear. He opens his eyes and watches. He's always liked fooling around in front of the mirror, but it's another thing entirely to see himself like this, shirt open, pants hastily undone, with Arthur's strong, lean arm stretched across him, the edge of Arthur's naked body peeking out from behind him, Arthur's lovely face so serious, pressed against his cheek. "Arthur," he moans helplessly.

Arthur takes his free hand and tugs at Eames' shirt, baring his shoulders. He's looking Eames' reflection right in the eye. "God, you're so hot," he pants.

It's all too much. It's heaven. "I'm coming," Eames barely manages to warn, and then, " _Fuck_ ," as they jerk his cock downward and he shoots into the sink. Eames has no more words then, just sounds, muddled syllables and groans and sighs, his whole body tense and his head rushing until he stops coming.

"Uh, ow," Arthur says softly. Eames realizes he's got a violent grip on Arthur's hair and lets go. Arthur laughs against Eames' shoulder blade.

"Sorry," Eames mutters, focusing hard on staying upright. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Arthur says against his skin, before kissing his shoulder. "Are  _you_?"

Eames smiles as he catches Arthur's eye in the mirror, his head quieting. "I'm very alright," he says, though he sees a few stars floating about. "You're something else. You're..." He can't think of the right words. Well, he can, but he can't seem to say them. All he can seem to do is breathe, "Arthur."

They both let go of Eames' cock. Arthur wraps his arms around Eames' waist. "I love the way you say my name," he says.

Eames grins at that, feeling his wits come back to him. "May have gotten carried away with it for a minute, there. It's always been on the tip of my tongue when I come, darling. It's gotten me in trouble before," he admits, remembering the numerous times he's called others by Arthur's name during sex, or, as in Fischer's case, before sex that consequently never ended up happening.

He runs the sink to clean it out, and Arthur lets go of him, wiping his hand on one of the towels hanging nearby. "Let's go to bed," he says. Eames nods and follows Arthur back to the bed. Arthur undresses Eames the rest of the way, and then they crawl under the covers.

Eames lies on his back, and Arthur curls up against him, his head tucked against Eames' neck, his arm draped over Eames' chest, his leg hooked over Eames'. Eames holds Arthur in his arms, kissing his hair. He's barely drunk anymore, but he's still exhausted.

He keeps himself awake as long as he can, savoring this moment, this unbelievable state they're in. He got to wake up today with Arthur in his arms. He got to dance with him, to kiss him, to make him come (twice!), and now he's falling asleep with him in his arms all over again.  _I love you_ , he thinks, or says, or maybe starts to dream, finally succumbing to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and I have been having ruthless staring contests with each other for daaaays! I hope you enjoy. I had actually had it completed for some time, but I have been reading a lot (lot, lot, lot) of smut lately and it inspired me to go into this chapter and tidy it up (so to speak) a bit. Then it was just a stalemate until it stopped, you know, ~looking~ at me like that.
> 
> Sorry for the delay after I had really gotten into the habit of posting an average of a chapter per day for the first ten! One more chapter left. Let's see if we can tie everything up in a nice bow!


	12. Arthur VI

The morning is so lovely, Arthur's not sure it isn't a dream. He drinks a cup of crappy coffee from the tiny, single-serving machine in their room. He drinks it standing naked in front of the window, eight floors up—a gray, rainy Boston laid out before him. It's the best crappy coffee he's ever tasted. It's the best lousy weather he's ever seen.

Eames sits at the desk, naked, going about painstakingly breaking up weed with his fingers to roll another joint. Arthur admires his back, hunched over, until he can't help but approach him and run a palm down his spine. Eames straightens up a bit, and Arthur dips to kiss the back of his neck before letting him get back to the task at hand.

Arthur's head isn't exactly killing him, as they really did take the time to mostly-sober-up before falling asleep, but there's a bit of a dull throbbing above his eyes. He's not feeling too nauseous, though this coffee on an empty stomach might change that. Brunch starts in twenty minutes. They'll probably be late.

Arthur gives himself a break and doesn't shower, seeing as he took three of them yesterday. Mostly it's his unwillingness to wash the  _Eames_ off of him. He'd prefer to carry the scent home with him to Philly. Eames skipped his shower too, saying how much better it'll feel once he's home and has some clean clothes.

The whole notion of going home makes Arthur rather sad. He doesn't want to go back to reality after this weekend. He's grateful at least that he had the good sense to take off work tonight as well. Although, maybe work would be easier. Working would at least occupy his mind.

Once the coffee's all but gone (with the exception of those last, cold dregs left in the bottom of the cup), he gets dressed. He pulls on the jeans he wore on the train down. Eames has finished rolling the joint by now, and he tackles Arthur gently onto the bed as Arthur's putting on his tee-shirt. Barely-hungover as they are, they're still not quite feeling spry enough to fool around, but Arthur spares a few minutes to press kisses to Eames' brow and rub his temples. Eames just runs his hands along any part of Arthur he can reach.

When they get back up, Eames gets back into his well-worn clothes from yesterday (and the day before) as well a hoodie emblazoned with their university's name that Eames has had for years, one that's practically falling apart. Arthur laughs at him and pulls a flannel out of his bag, buttoning it up as they head out of the room.

They can't smoke in the same spot as yesterday because of the rain. They huddle against the rear wall of the hotel, underneath a ledge. It's pretty conspicuous, but there's not too many people out with the weather the way it is. Arthur doesn't stress about it. Marijuana's decriminalized in Boston, anyway; he can handle a fine if worse comes to worst.

The joint is small, The wind and rain make it hard to smoke, but it does the trick. Arthur's hungry before they've finished it. It's past eleven, when they were supposed to be meeting for brunch, but they stay outside to air out a little. They lean against the wall and watch the rain, quiet for a few minutes. Arthur is content.

"When is your train?" Eames asks finally, perforating the comfortable silence.

Arthur frowns. "3," he answers. "When are you heading back?"

"Certainly not before you're on that train," Eames tells him. "I'll drive you to the station." Arthur rests his head against Eames' shoulder, and Eames lets his own head rest on top of Arthur's.

"I'd like that," Arthur says, and then, "We should head inside," not wanting to talk about leaving anymore.

Eames nods and they make their way back to the front of the hotel. Ariadne spots them first when they enter the restaurant. "They're alive!" she exclaims, and everyone snickers.

"And you look positively  _healthy_ ," Yusuf adds. "We thought for sure you'd have been depleted of fluids entirely by now." They laugh harder at that. Arthur feels his face get warm, but he and Eames  _were_ pretty hot and heavy last night. He'd be making the same jokes if it had been anybody else.

He and Eames visit the brunch buffet and each fill up a plate. Arthur's starving by now, and he gives himself a healthy helping of fruit salad, plus some eggs, bacon, and toast, and a chocolate-chip muffin too, because it just looks too mouthwatering not to grab—oh, and there's hash browns! He finds some space alongside the scrambled eggs for a generous heap of the potatoes. He watches as Eames stacks four pancakes on a plate, then arranges a tremendous amount of bacon around them.

Arthur takes both their plates back as Eames goes about making himself a cup of tea (and eyeing the rest of the spread hungrily). There's two empty seats between Yusuf and Emma. Arthur puts down their plates and sits beside Emma. She gives him a knowing (but still lovely) smile. "How ya feelin' there, champ?" she asks. Arthur blushes some more, he's sure. It's not meant to be a loaded question, but all the same he has to try very hard not to immediately think in great detail about Eames' mouth on him, Eames coming down his throat, Eames' fingers inside him. It's no use. Arthur's had  _dreams_ about Eames that have occupied his mind for days... He's not sure he'll ever be able to stop thinking about the real-life events of this weekend.

"Stoned," Arthur finally answers. "Didn't feel too great when I woke up, though," he admits.

"Yeah," Ariadne comments from her spot beside Yusuf. "You were in rare form last night, Arthur."

He laughs. "I really was," he concedes, refusing to say more until he's eaten something.

He devours the fruit in record time, and really should have guessed it would lead to Yusuf asking, however casually and innocently, "Feelin' fruity?" For half a second, Arthur tries to pretend to be incensed, but busts out laughing immediately, so hard that he spits a couple chunks of melon back out onto the table, which in turn has them all breathless with laughter right away.

Eames comes back and sits beside Arthur, kissing him on top of the head, which is greeted by a chorus of  _awww_ (which is likely the primary reason Eames did it in the first place).

Arthur smiles as everyone falls back into typical conversation, discussing the wedding and the party happily. He tries to ignore the horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, the constant reminder that this is almost over.

-

Checking out is quick enough. Arthur's an accomplished packer, to be sure, and Eames is happy to stuff all his belongings haphazardly into his bag. They head to Ariadne and Yusuf's after checkout, as there's still a few hours before Arthur has to get on the train.

They sit around in the living room, lazy, quiet (relative to the rest of the weekend, at least). Eames sits on the floor beside the coffee table, sketching in his notebook, smiling up at Arthur occasionally, but more often glaring at the couch like he's got a grudge against it. Ariadne's got her laptop in front of her and her phone in her hands, deep in all forms of social media, digging for wedding photos, going through endless Snapchat stories and checking the  _#ariplusyusuf_ tag on Instagram and Facebook. Yusuf started out grading papers, but the stack of essays somehow made its way to the ottoman in front of his armchair. He's now resting his feet on them as he and Arthur switch off playing Super Mario 64.

It doesn't do much to take Arthur's mind off leaving Eames. He keeps peeking at Eames' drawings, but the page is filled with insufferably small, crowded sketches, smudged and scribbled in such a classically  _Eames_ way; he never could abide unused space.

When he accidentally slides Mario too fast down a hill and off a cliff, Arthur gives the controller back to Yusuf. Ariadne's sitting between them, and she leans in to show him a picture of him, Robert, and Masha from the reception. It's a nice picture. It's easy to forget, but he reminds himself that this weekend wasn't just important for him and Eames (or, of course, Ariadne and Yusuf); he and Robert managed to get themselves back on friendly terms, and that's one less strange past relationship to keep him up at night. If only that were a satisfying-enough-development to let him go home and feel whole again, but he's certain there's no hope of that.

Ariadne's intermittently giving Arthur these unbearably pitying looks, like she can read it all over his face how agonizing the thought of going home is. It makes him instantly long for her blissful ignorance, for the many years Arthur was pining and nursing his own personal brand of heartache and she was none the wiser. It would be easier to ignore the feeling in his stomach if she'd just stop looking at him like that.

But at the same time, he can't deny the comfort her knowing brings him. He doesn't have to bear this cross alone, the weight of being without Eames after finally having him this weekend. Then again, Ariadne won't be coming home with him either. He  _will_ be alone again.

Just as he starts thinking that maybe it's finally time to get a cat, he forces himself out of his pity-party. He isn't in a fucking Jane Austen novel, he reminds himself; he'll survive. And Eames doesn't live so far away, just a forty-minute drive—one that Arthur suspects he'll be making far more frequently than every few months. If that's what Eames wants, of course...

...And there it is, Arthur thinks—the real reason he's so anxious, though he hates admitting it to himself. He's terrified, absolutely fucking  _terrified_ that when the distance (however little) comes back between them, this will all fade away. He trusts what Eames said this weekend, that he's always felt this way, that he wants Arthur more than he's ever wanted anything... Still, there's this gnawing doubt somewhere inside him. He doesn't like that flicker of self-doubt, and he tries to snuff it out by replaying scenes in his head... Eames climbing into bed with him... Eames asking him to dance (again and again and again)... Eames kissing him for the first time... Eames' hands on him,  _inside_ him for the first time... _  
_

" _Fuuuuuuck you, penguin!_ " Yusuf suddenly exclaims. Arthur looks up to see Mario falling into the apparently icy chasm underneath the racing path in the level. N64 brings out the beast in Yusuf. "You can't beat him! It's impossible. I should be able to use the bloody shortcut!" He tosses the controller back toward Arthur, but it nails Ariadne in the knee instead.

"Hey! Don't shit on the penguin just because you can't beat a video game you've had since 1997!" Ariadne snaps playfully, rubbing her knee.

Arthur joins in. "Yeah, man. He's just an athlete trying to provide for his penguin family."

Yusuf shakes his head. "He's a damn swindler."

Arthur laughs and takes the controller. About halfway through the race, he knows he's going to win. He thinks about "accidentally" throwing himself from the platform just so Yusuf won't feel so bad, but opts to finish strong, beating the big penguin by a considerable margin.

Yusuf rejects Arthur's offer to try for the next star, fetching the now slightly-creased stack of papers and pouting as he starts reading through them again. Arthur starts to offer the controller to Ariadne, but she's back to taking and erasing selfies in Snapchat. "Eames, you want to try?"

Eames looks up from his notebook. "Do we have time?" he asks, almost sullenly. Arthur begrudgingly looks at his phone. Sure enough, Eames' suspicions are correct. They really ought to be heading to the train station. He shakes his head, and Eames closes up his notebook.

Ariadne and Yusuf see them to the car, though there's no real need. Ariadne's hanging off Arthur's arm the whole time. "When are you two gonna give it up and move up here so we can be a friendship family again?"

Arthur laughs it off, as he has for the past four years every time Ariadne has suggested it. For the first time, though, he looks around him and thinks about how it  _would_ be awfully nice to live in Boston, to hang out in their apartment any time he likes, to see people he loves more frequently than every few months. "Ask me next time we see each other," Arthur says, lightly enough that he's pretty sure Ariadne will know not to take it seriously.

Yusuf and Eames wrap each other up in something like a mutual bear hug, and Ariadne wraps her arms around Arthur tightly. When he tries to pull away, she tucks her leg behind his so he can't. "Nooo," she whines. "No leaving."

"God, you're like a koala," he says, getting her to giggle enough that he can shove her away. "Come visit soon."

She nods. "I promise."

"We will," Yusuf confirms, finally releasing Eames. "We miss you a lot. She doesn't shut up about it, believe me."

Ariadne rolls her eyes and looks at Eames. "If you could hear him fucking wax poetic about how much he misses you..."

"In a very masculine fashion," Yusuf assures him.

"I expect nothing less, mate," Eames replies. Then he reaches for Arthur's hand. "Shall we?"

Arthur nods and takes it. "I suppose we must."

" _Awwww_ ," Ariadne sings happily at the sight.

"Shut up," Arthur says, though he has no complaints as Eames indulges her by planting a wet kiss on his cheek.

"Drive safe," Yusuf says as they're climbing into the car. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he adds with a laugh.

"My life's creed," Eames offers. "Enjoy married life."

Arthur nods. "Yeah, be sure to henpeck him, Ariadne," he teases.

Ariadne laughs. "Let us know when you get home," she says with a wave as he closes the door. He nods and waves back, smiling, and with that, they're off.

They're mostly quiet in the car. Eames carefully and confidently navigates the rainy, slightly busy city streets. His iPod is plugged in and a Moody Blues song is playing softly.

It's chilly as they wait for the car to heat up, but Arthur's still plenty warm with the memories of this weekend, though he's dying inside with every yard they progress, so desperately in love with Eames, so utterly heartbroken at the idea of having to leave him, wishing they'd taken advantage of all those years in such close proximity—but then, that's not right. They  _had_ taken advantage. Those years had been the best of Arthur's life, without question, and he can't bring himself to want to trade them... not to mention the absolute pyrotechnics between them after waiting eight long years to touch each other.

Suddenly, Eames pulls over with little warning. "What are you doing?" Arthur asks, nervously looking at the time. They're already cutting it kind of close.

"Come home with me," Eames says, eyes round, almost pleading.

Arthur hesitates a moment. "I can't cancel my ticket  _now_ ," he points out.

"So? I'll reimburse you. Come home with me, Arthur," he says, rolling his name around in his mouth the way he does, drawing it out as though he has to savor it.

Arthur considers the offer for all of two seconds before Eames continues.

"Listen, Arthur... I'm in love with you." And suddenly the whole world stops. There is no ticket, there is no train, there is no traffic. There's just Eames and him, inside this car. "I always have been. Always. And I can't... I don't want to wait to see you again." Eames is smiling nervously, like he's admitting all this involuntarily. "God, I'm so in love with you," he says again.

"Me too," is all Arthur can manage at first, but even so, the smile it brings to Eames' face is complete perfection.

"You too... what?" Eames asks and bites his lip.

Arthur takes a deep breath and says the words that have been stuck in his throat for so many years. "I love you, Eames. So much."

Eames rubs his hand over his face. He looks like he's expecting to rake his fingers through his beard only to remember it's gone. He's grinning wide. "Come home with me."

"Okay," Arthur answers. "Yeah." He's about to say more when Eames grabs his face and pulls him in for a kiss. Arthur isn't sure how long they kiss for like that, parked clumsily on the side of the road, desperate and celebratory. Once they do pull away, the windows have begun to fog, so Eames cracks them a bit.

"You know, we're going to have to make a pit-stop or two along the way, darling. I can't go six hours without kissing you again," he says.

"Well, there are a number of traffic lights before we get on I-90," Arthur points out. "Because, you know, the faster we get back, the sooner we can get into your bed."

At that, Eames mimes cutting the wheel hard and slams his foot hard against the floor of the car, as if he's about to peel out into the road and double the speed limit for the next 300 miles. Arthur laughs.

They do kiss at every red light, and when they get on the ramp to the interstate, Arthur plucks Eames' iPod from the cupholder. "Love me enough to let me pick the music?"

Eames grits his teeth playfully, and squints like giving up that control is truly the hardest thing he's ever had to do. "You and only you, love. It's all yours."

Arthur scrolls through Eames' artists to find Edith Piaf. 'La Vie en Rose' begins as Eames merges onto I-90 and then reaches for Arthur's hand. Arthur smiles and squeezes it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanksgiving got right up in my way with this chapter! But I did manage to get through a pretty irritating case of writer's block through the unlikely channel of Super Mario 64. The result of which is a slightly longer deleted scene of Yusuf and Ari and Arthur discussing Yusuf's headcanon for Big Penguin Race... Which will be posted on my tumblr at some point.
> 
> So happy to have finished this story. Thanks to everyone who read and commented and left kudos and supported me in aaaaany old way! Feels good to have it done. I really fell in love with these guys.


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